


all the names unknown

by lilac26



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: F/F, F/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, References to The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood, Spoilers, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2019-06-10 12:51:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 23,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15291915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilac26/pseuds/lilac26
Summary: June. Moira. Emily. Serena. Janine. Rita. Alma. Dolores. Erin. Holly. Charlotte. Lydia.These are the names we happen to know. But as a war breaks out over the escape of a high-ranking Commander's infant, the lives of Gilead's ordinary victims are thrown into the crossfire. They are faced with the choice of fighting for their freedom or staying silent as their prison burns and collapses around them.





	1. a letter to Gilead / NARRATOR

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction picks up after the season two finale of The Handmaid's Tale. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT SPOILERS.

Dear Gilead,

No. This isn’t dear to you – is it? Suppose it depends on your choice of definition. ‘Dear’ can mean something in close proximity: nearby, imminent. Shakespeare used it to express severe dismay. It can also denote something heartfelt, affectionate; fondly and highly valued. Precious. There’s no fucking way Gilead is precious to you. But the other meanings, well, are unsettlingly true. It sits next to your pumping heart the same way an oil spill blankets a body of water, a thin toxic veil suffocating the unsullied bride – in that way, it can be described as heartfelt. You find no value in its existence. But to go against its grain, to push back against its tide of restrictions and roles and repression, would be costly. Fatal.

There’s no need to explain dismay.

When thinking about the start of your life here, it’s easy to say you were stolen and dragged into this world. But you were never really taken away. The soil beneath your feet was once American soil, belonging to a nation you called your own. You tried to escape it, even, when you first began to see what was happening around you. Gilead just brought you back.

It trained you to be a vessel. On the surface, your purpose was to bear a child – a collection of growing cells inside your uterus that would become a tiny swaddled life (if all went well). You were told God blessed you and forgave your previous sins, your dirtiness, by giving you fertility: Gilead’s gold. You were a walking womb with no strings attached in its eyes. Soon, though, after the shock wore away and you had already passed from one household to another, you began to understand the depths of Gilead’s grasp on you. Your worth didn’t only lie between your legs – it lived in your mind. 

Over time, Gilead softens your skull (becoming much like the baby you are tasked to produce) and seeps farther into your brain as you sink deeper into it. Day after day it tears down your mental barriers until you start forgetting where you drew the lines in the first place. You’re that piece of candy at the bottom of the jar that soaks up the taste of the dust and the newer sweets around it, while its wrapper never betrays a thing. Your appearance is unchanged, but what’s inside has been permeated by the sugarcoated world surrounding you. 

In Gilead, the most dangerous are also the most subtle. You'll learn that quickly enough, and maybe one day you'll be able to use it to your advantage. Who would have thought the empty-minded vessel would turn out to be a threat?

Gilead. Soon, it'll understand that it should never have told you not to think.


	2. turning back / JUNE

Sirens still sound in the distance. A red hood, a folded photograph. Whether a woman is walking back into hell, or hell is walking back into Gilead wearing the uniform of a handmaid, is unclear. Masks are strange in that way – sometimes they deceive their perpetrators more than their intended victims.

The woman carries herself differently than before: she no longer bears a swollen belly that presses against her cotton skirt, her arms no longer hold the swaddled fruits of her labor, and her shoulders no longer feel the weight of that same child’s unrightful absence from her. As she strides down the roadway, you can tell that every step is unconditionally her own.

_‘When you think the night has seen your mind, that inside you’re twisted and unkind, let me stand to show that you are blind.’_

No sun shines down from the dim sky above her, but she feels golden rays from another dawn brush her cheek just long enough to bring a bit of blush to her otherwise cold, clammy skin. _Hannah_. The woman quickens her pace. An industrial web of tangled metal structures looms before her, the clamour of a racing highway echoing to her left. There still are many hours before the light will come and a party will be sent to look for her. Thoughts of rough gloved hands grabbing her by the shoulders and dragging her into the back of a barred black van run through her mind, adding fire to the steel already forging in her chest. They won’t get her back this time – at least, not in the way they want. If her uniformed body should be hung on their wall, it will rest in a state of triumph, not disgrace. If her body should hang, it will be the last to do so.

_‘I find it hard to believe you don’t know the beauty that you are.’_

There is a faint, dangerous glow emerging at the edge of the horizon. It could still be the fire – or it could be a fatal morning. She has spent enough chances being reckless, so now her only focus is to find a safe haven for the daytime. The woman lifts her skirt, sodden at the hem from the spilling water in the tunnel, and climbs over the short wire barrier between the roadside and the buildings. Internally, she curses whoever decided red would be a good color to symbolize maternity and reproduction, because it is not a hue that allows for blending in.

Beyond the looming piles of scrap metal and cranes, she sees a warehouse. It’s corrugated siding is spotted with rust and signs of water damage. Is it occupied? Could she occupy it?

The light in the distance has begun to grow stronger and brighter, although the air is still cold enough to bite at her exposed hands. She fumbles with the pockets of her coat to find her thick crimson gloves and looks around at the situation before her. She knows every movement, every choice, is vital.

She is not meant to be alone. There is a distraught baby in another’s arms whose cries match the throbs of her heart. In another world, that little girl would not exist in the same way, and surely would go by a different name. Now, though, she will have a chance to be free and live without the burden of her beginnings. Her mother can only pray to what is left of heaven’s holiness that she too will live that way again.

_‘I’ll be your mirror, reflect what you are, in case you don’t know.’_

Handmaid. Woman. Daughter. Mother. Vessel. Heroine. She fits the description for all of these names, and yet doesn’t let any of them limit her. She is, most importantly, unchained.


	3. uncertain / RITA

‘Friends.’ That was what she had said to the girl when asked who would be helping her escape. But they are more than that, those Marthas. By morning, they may be hanging side by side next to her from the trees, lining a street still covered with ashes and puddles of hydrant water. Or they may be fine. Maybe one of them will be caught, and none of the others. Maybe it’ll be her. How would the rope feel against her skin? Would there be a crowd? Will the executioners wait until sunrise, or will she and the others die in the dark?

There is too much empty time in this life – it begs for you to question uncertainties. Absentmindedly, she wonders if she’ll be around long enough to pack up the baby’s nursery. 

The house is oddly quiet without the baby crying upstairs. Her wails are replaced with the sound of the Commander’s pacing feet, his rage conveyed through the floorboards. Tension floods the air – to turn your head, you must feel a brush of barbed wire against the back of your neck. A man in a hood whistles at you on the street at night. A flame sparks the fuse of a bomb.

These are the things she notices as she waits, smoothing out the wrinkles of her dusty green apron again and again in the dim kitchen light. She’s not scared. Each moment in Gilead, no matter how ‘normal’ or predictable it is, can turn into a deadly encounter for someone of her status. She is easily replaceable. Her word means nothing – it has even less value than her barren female body. She’s still young enough to work, quiet enough to be subservient, and her infertility came about naturally enough to be considered God’s intention, so her fate sits at the center of balance as a Martha. Being virtually worthless to the larger society has taught her to be smart, to obey and keep her mouth clamped shut around anyone who possesses authority. She’s a sheep with a sharp mind living amongst wolves. 

At the moment, though, there is no one around to tell her what to do. Her chores have been forgotten in the light of more pressing issues – ones she helped create, though no one above her knows that yet. A deeper pain rises in her chest as she stands in a stranger’s house that, no matter how much longer she stays here, will never become her own. So many have walked into this room, leaving without really looking her in the eye. She’s been left behind too many times. 

This time, though, she had a hand in it. This time, there should be a happy ending.


	4. a new world / EMILY

_"June!"_

Her own shouts echo in her head, a memory flitting from one side of her skull to the other. The sound is trapped much like herself – confined between dark walls, wondering when something will happen to break the rising tension. The rushing of the truck's wheels on the wet highway below her begins to blend in with the rush of her own blood. Until just a few minutes ago, she was convinced she was heading to her death. Time stopped the instant her hand plunged that stolen kitchen knife into Aunt Lydia’s robes. She had swung the execution axe, tied the knot of her own noose. In that moment nothing else mattered but the pain boiling deep inside her chest. Each drop of blood spilled was a Handmaid, a Martha, a woman whose life and love had been ripped away from her and twisted into this hellish existence. Gilead. The word sat bitterly in her throat, along with every _‘praised be’_ and _‘may the lord open’_ and _‘blessed be the fruit’._ It was all utter bullshit.

Now, though, her purgatory has come to an end. God came in the form of a black truck and garish CD music for this disgraced Handmaid.

_“You’re getting out of Gilead.”_

You’re. _You_ are. Not ‘we’, or ‘us’. It begins to sink in that June knew what she was doing from the start. Handing over her baby, setting her against a stranger’s breast, was the only outcome she had in mind. June was crazy. But, June was also incredibly brave. Months, feeling like lifetimes, have passed since she herself has felt that way – before the hanging, the surgery, the Colonies, the failed assignments. There are different kinds of madness in this world. Sometimes it comes in waves, spread out over time, slowly but effectively washing away your sanity like grains of sand. Other times it’s stones pummeling you from an unseen tower, knocking you down in swift motions while also building a more permanent prison wall around you. For her, the madness crept in with the shadows at night. She never thought she’d be one to fall this way. Becoming a part of Mayday meant being on the front lines of the fight, but it also gave her hope and purpose. Without it, her walls broke down faster than planned.

Gilead dug itself deep into her heart and just nearly broke it for good.

_“Tell her I love her.”_

They had known each other as Ofglen and Offred, just sharing their old names in moments of haste and goodbyes. What was she to do with this infant in her arms? The poor child is swaddled in blankets presumably made by the Wife who intended to steal her from her mother without consent – a mother she’d likely never see again. A tear slips down the cheek of the women in red. Shakily, she rearranges the quiet bundle in her lap. This feels too familiar – in another time, this baby could be her own; a little boy named Oliver wrapped quilts from the baby shower, wearing a pale yellow onesie. She always thought he grew up too fast, but looking back, it was in all the right ways. He learned to play and run and make friends. He learned about love, and family. He will never have to learn about the horrors in Gilead’s world. Somehow, his ignorance gives her bliss, even though that same ignorance might mean that he will have forgotten everything about her by now. What remained for her on the other side? Escape means freedom, but it also carries a burden of regret. How many others were trapped within Gilead’s walls? How many are still to be crushed under its oppression? A new generation of girls will be born there, brought into the world by women who would give anything to leave it. The few who manage to escape will return to a world so much different than the one they knew before. After all, how can you be the same after all that has happened to you? How could anyone?

She breathes. The truck rattles with every bump, reminding her not to get too comfortable. June’s baby lies sleeping in her folded arms. Her expression is peaceful, unaware of the dangers ahead. The road ahead was unseen, but undoubtedly wide with chances – chances of happiness, chances of pain, but most of all, a chance of a new world for the two of them.


	5. the child / THE WATERFORDS

You haven’t witnessed true anger until you’ve seen someone who believes the world should sit in the palm of their hand be forced to face the reality of how powerless they actually are.

He storms into the street, black coat lifted at the edges by the wind. It’s early. Dawn has just begun to break, causing the dark gray shingles lining the roofs of the neighbourhood to glow golden. The fire has ended, but the grass and cement are still coated with grimy soot. Sounds of radio commands and hurried boots stomping the ground have quieted down — for now.

“That _bitch_ ,” he seethes, approaching the dwindling group of Guardians around the burnt house.

"Good day, Commander Waterford," one of the men calls out.

"It is not a 'good day'," he fumes, cutting through the crowd. Eyes are drawn inwards, towards him — he is the eye of a newly forming hurricane, the end of a burning fuse. Four words, and war has been declared. 

" _The child is gone._ "

* * *

 

Eyes staring vacantly ahead, she sits with her back pressed against the thick wooden leg of a table. Her hand throbs beneath the dirty gauze bandages. She does not move. Around her, the glass walls of her sanctuary have turned an ashy gray – dirtied by the smoke from the fire.

A child can mean many things, depending on who you ask. In Gilead, a child is an angel with an expiration date; the bundle of joy is a godly gift until it grows out of its innocence and becomes a person capable of earthly sins, of heresy. The people of old America saw children as added weight on their shoulders, but nonetheless a hope for the future. To the woman sitting on the floor of the greenhouse, a child is much like a seed. It can be a thought, a fear, that roots itself into your skull. It can be a newly imagined world. It can blossom, stretching its soft petals into the light, or it can fester and grow into a poison vine that surrounds you, suffocating.

The bit of soul that was left, tucked away deep inside of her for safekeeping, is gone. Serena Joy has become the girl trapped within the music box — a ballerina, stuck on a spinning stage, whose pastel world has faded to gray.


	6. fire / JUNE

The sun is rising.

With every minute that passes by, she feels her throat tighten. She’s meant to be brave, she’s meant to be strong – but even the brightest flames risk being put out when a strong wind blows. Her oxygen has been cut off and the cold, damp world is closing in around her.

A shadow moves. She stops, listening. The pounding of her heart quickens. Another movement, sharper this time. She begins to run.

Red fabric tangles around her numb feet, catching on her boots, tripping her.

“Hey, handmaid!” someone shouts.

Footsteps follow her. She stumbles towards a pile of scrap metal and grabs blindly in the semi-darkness, reaching for anything heavy or sharp. A chunk of torn copper siding slips free from the rest. Its rough edges cut into her gloves, but she grips it tightly and continues running. There are no sirens, no searchlights — not yet. “ _Shit_ ,” she thinks. Images of the Marthas who helped her, Rita, Nick, and Emily fly through her head. _Holly._ What would happen to them? How did they already find out where she was, that she was gone?

The field had grown quiet again. She slows, and turns around. The shadow is gone. Suddenly, someone grabs the hood of her cloak and slips their arm across her chest. The force of it pulls her backwards and leaves her pressed up against her attacker’s body. She gasps, but knows better than to scream.

“Put down the weapon and I’ll let go of you,” they say in a low voice. She tries to twist around, fighting their grip, but they hold on steadily.

“Fuck you,” she says through clenched teeth. Hugging the metal close to her chest, she throws herself forward. They both fall to the ground. She lifts her leg and kicks backwards, striking the person in the knee. As they cry out, she jerks free of their arms and forces herself up.

“Wait!” they snap, putting their arms up as if preparing for another blow. In the low light, she can barely make out the shape of the person lying on the ground below her. Faintly, she sees they are wearing black — the color of a Guardian. Whether it’s a trick of her eyes or not, they seem smaller, _younger_ , than the others that she’s seen before. She pauses. For a moment, she thinks of Isaac and the swimming pool.

“Who the hell are you,” she asks, “and where are your friends?”

Her eyes begin to focus. The Guardian cautiously sits up, and tugs their scarf away from their face. Something isn’t right, but she can’t figure out what.

Clearly frustrated, but also hesitant to upset the woman brandishing a slab of bent copper inches from their face, they sigh and cross their arms. “Are you gonna put that down?” they ask. Before she has a chance to respond, they pull their black beanie off and tuck it into sleeve.

Her eyes widen, realizing. Amused by her reaction, the Guardian smirks and nods at the metal. “Well?”

She lowers it to her side and swallows the bile in the back of her mouth. In front of her, dressed in the uniform of a Guardian, stands a girl.


	7. lost and found / EMILY

Worry lines still crease her face from the hours she spent waiting in silence: the hours she thought would be her last. She stares straight ahead and tries to shake herself back into reality as the truck keeps driving onwards. With the back doors closed, the room where she sits is entirely dark, so the only way to track the time is by the stiffness in her legs and the ever steadier beat of her heart.

Without warning, the truck slows down and begins to turn. She clutches the infant to her chest and holds her breath, envisioning the doors being forcefully opened and her limp body being dragged out. The vehicle rolls to a stop. She feels herself rock forwards and back again as the wheels settle into the ground, muffled voices speaking outside. And then, without confrontation, they’re moving again.

To exhale would mean relaxing, and to relax would mean letting her guard down, so for another moment she remains completely still. The truck begins to speed up, and the familiar bumps of the road below calm her enough to start taking shallow breaths again. She can no longer hear traffic surrounding them. They drive just a short distance more before coming to a halt again. This time, the engine shuts off and the front door slams shut. She tucks her knees up, doing her best to conceal the baby and appear small. Before she’s ready, the back doors open wide, weak morning light filling the room where she sits. A man in black with crinkled eyes looks up at her.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing onto her elbow to help her out of the truck. Her knees shook when her feet landed on the ground. The man nodded towards the side of the road. “If you head up that way, you’ll hit a residential town in a few miles. Once they see you they’ll get you on your way to a center in no time,” he tells her, adding, “They’re used to this kind of thing by now.”

She stumbles off the paved road and turns around just in time to watch the driver shut the doors and drive away, back to Gilead. In a moment her surroundings become completely silent. Until now, she never realized how large and daunting the world could feel.

Numbly, her mind slips into autopilot. Take a step. One foot in front of the other – there you go. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Good girl. The snow crunches underneath her feet, spring having still not arrived. If it weren’t for the warm bundle in her arms, she’d have thought that the entire world had receded into the cold hard ground – not yet awake. But the baby sighs and squirms and she pulls herself forward another pace. Everything feels wrong, and rushed. 

_My name is Emily._ That’s what she wanted to say. _My name is Emily, and I –_

What else? She can’t call herself a Handmaid anymore. It should come as a relief, but instead it just feels like confusion. This chance at escape was pressed into her hands just as abruptly as June’s baby. Soon she’ll be labelled a refugee, given clothes and phone numbers and a place to sleep. But that isn’t the truth quite yet. Standing there in her red dress, frozen still, one thought keeps replaying in her mind – _I didn’t ask to be saved._


	8. looking / JUNE

Fear is a funny thing. It can overtake you in an instant, flooding your senses and triggering a quick release of adrenaline from your body. It can also creep in slowly, like fog after rain, the cold ache within your bones and the smell of mold. You never know how long it’ll stay. It’s ironic – your body tells you there’s something bad coming and that you need to get away, but instead of listening you just hold the feeling inside until the sensation of being scared becomes a part of just existing. The thought of exhaling and taking a deep, calm breath is foreign to you. Being afraid is your new ordinary.

The girl is leading her towards the rusted warehouse. With each step, her stomach sinks a little deeper.  _Hannah,_ she silently reminds herself.  _Holly._ They are her reasons for staying, for taking each step farther into danger. Her mind tells her to feel relief and joy – she's found help, after all – but her instinct, formed by years of Gilead influence, reminds her that nothing safe is as it seems.

They reach the building. Padlocked, the door is securely fastened to its frame. The girl looks over her shoulder, eyeing June warily, before taking a key from her jacket pocket and undoing the lock. She holds open the door. "Go ahead," she says, waiting.

Her tone isn't hostile, but it isn't friendly either. She carries with her an inherent naivete that comes with her age, but layered heavily over that is a sort of stiff directness. There's something behind her that she wants to keep out of sight and out of mind. June pauses to look her in the eye before passing through the entrance. The girl follows her inside, black after red. From a distance, this encounter might look like it fits Gilead standard.

It takes a moment for June's eyes to adjust to the fluorescent light of the warehouse. After the shadowy dawn outside, the brightness makes her feel exposed. Searchlights, lightning, gunshots  _–_ it all floods her mind. She snaps out of it quickly, though, when the girl begins to speak.

"What are you here for?" she asks. "You trying to run away?"

June shakes her head. The girl frowns. "Please don't tell me you came out all this way just to end it  _–_ somebody's going to find you and put you up on the wall either way, for sinning," she added, unnervingly aloof. 

"No," June says firmly. "I just need somewhere to stay until it gets dark again."

The girl scoffs. "Seriously?" She crosses her arms and leans up against one of the factory tables. "Do you have any idea what's going on out there?"

Panic rises in her chest. "What?" 

"Some high-ranking Commander's baby went missing, and now we're getting threats from all over the place. The Eyes are on high-alert."

The words fade out as she realizes what the girl is saying. She backs away, suddenly nauseous.

"Don't you get it?  _I can't help you._ I'm already risking my neck as it is," the girl continues.

A bad taste fills her mouth. "Fuck,"she echoes. " _Fuck_."

"I don't get it," the girl says. "I thought you didn't know anything about this?"

June turns back towards the girl. "Look, I don't care if you think I'm crazy, but you're gonna listen to me, okay? I'm staying here, with you, until sundown, and then you're taking me to whoever you know that can help me get to another district."

"Why?" the girl asks. 

"Because that's my baby."

 


	9. holy father / THE WATERFORDS

The house is busy, brimming with blue and brown and black uniforms (there's not a red dress to be seen). A group of pitiful Wives surround Serena, who has been brought in from the greenhouse and is now sitting wordless on the sofa. They coo and comfort her, speaking about her lost baby and the scripture and the evils of the rebellion. Some concerned Aunts stand in the doorway. Guardians pace the hallway while they wait for orders. Inside his office, Commander Waterford and the other men of the council are debating in loud voices.

"They left during the night?"

"Yes, during the fire."

"Could this be an act of double terrorism by the resistors – arson and kidnapping?"

"But why would they target this house? Why not someplace closer to the border?"

"It'd be too easy; not enough of a stunt."

"Quiet," Fred announces, raising his hand over the din. The conversations immediately stop. "The motive of these scoundrels is unimportant. We're wasting precious time."

The Commander turns to Nick, eyes steely and cold with a flicker of expectation. He notices the strain beneath Nick's neutral expression. He'll either obey, or explode, and Fred will be sure to make his decision as painfully slow as possible.

"Nick, please excuse yourself to another room and send out a radio message on the emergency channel. Make sure to leave nothing out," he says quietly with a silver-coated tongue. 

Nick stiffly nods, and exits. Each step is precise and firm on the hardwood floor, echoing through the silent room. The Commander holds back a smirk.

Closing the door behind him, Nick turns and walks down the entrance way, passing by the other Guardians and ignoring their expecting looks. He slips away into the kitchen.

Rita stands at the sink, filling a pot with hot water to boil. She glances up at Nick, and turns off the faucet, placing the pot on the stove. 

"What it is?" she whispers, keeping her eyes down in case someone would enter the room.

Nick unclips the radio from his belt and tosses it on the counter, sighing heavily. Rita watches. "He's got Commanders from the entire district in there, and now he wants me to alert the rest of the damn country."

Rita carefully dries her hands on her apron, and pauses before saying, "I expected that would be his response. That child is all he has going for him at the moment, and no doubt this is majorly hurting his reputation."

"Rita," Nick stops her. "He _knows_ that I know."

A wave of apprehension runs through Rita's mind as the words are spoken out loud. She pushes it away, though, and focuses back on the issue in front of them. 

"You need to send that message. Soon."

“I’m not going to help him try and find her,” Nick says under his breath, frustration rising.

Rita takes a step closer, looking him in the eye. “You’ll do whatever it takes to keep yourself from looking suspicious. If that means standing by his side, doing his dirty work, so what.” Nick tries to interrupt, but Rita continues, saying, “The best thing you can do for June and your baby is to stay assigned to this house. If you are caught, the new Guardian placed here will be ruthless and unsympathetic. Stay under the radar, Nick.”

He looks away, unable to deny what Rita has told him but also visibly upset by it. After a moment, he nods, takes the radio from the counter, and leaves through the kitchen door.

Rita stands still – alone. She swallows and shuts her eyes, using all of her willpower to force the lump in her throat to disappear. Something about him reminds her of another boy in a uniform, big-hearted and stupidly brave. She doesn’t believe she deserved him, with his gentle eyes and determination. Still, he was hers to raise and love – a son.

Why is it that the best ones always leave the soonest?


	10. two paths toward freedom / JUNE and EMILY

“Seriously?” the girl asks, suddenly quiet.

June just stares at her. Bitter tears well in her eyes, but she does not blink. White and sharp, the warehouse lights float across her vision like blurred headlights through fog. She can hear herself breathing.

To the girl, this woman in red standing before her is a trigger waiting to explode. A bomb, a catalyst, a firework – she could become anything in an instant. How brave will she be? How senseless? In a way, she’s asking herself these questions as well.

“Come with me,” she says. Purposely, she makes her tone difficult to read. It’ll be better for the both of them if their interactions remain impersonal. To get attached is to sacrifice your security.

June exhales, letting her stiff posture relax. She will be safe; if only for tonight.

* * *

The tall, leafless trees around her sway with each sweep of the wind. It loosens strands of her dark hair, brushing past her cold cheek and the circles under her tired eyes. In her arms, June's baby sleeps soundly, the frills of her blanket dancing as Emily walks. A dark sky and snowy pavement seem to go on forever around them. 

She finds herself searching for some recognition of what she's doing. It feels vain, ugly – but she can't help and wish for any validation, whether it be anger or hate or joy or sadness, because right now all she sees is stillness. Silence. Nothing. 

Little does she know that every step she takes out of Gilead will be remembered as steps that started the final war. She isn't just another escaping Handmaid – she is every unborn child, suicide, act of rebellion. She carries Gilead's  _coup de grâce._


	11. fair / NICK

Dismissed, he stands alone in the driveway, all too aware that his voice is currently echoing from radio to radio, issuing orders to hunt down June and the baby she carries. His knees are locked and tense, holding him steady when every instinct tells him to act. The danger is spreading out of his control and all he can do is stay still. Eyes stare down heavily onto his stiff shoulders and make his restlessness difficult to contain. For years, he has obeyed and played his cards wisely; somehow, now is different. Now, he can see no way to win. The rules have grown too tight, and he is trapped in the corner: helpless.

 _"Everything is under control,"_ says the Commander's voice in his head, arrogant and imaginary.  _"It's out of your hands now. Just hold tight and watch it unfold."_

She's been taken from him so many times. Black vans hover in the corner of his vision, always ready to pull her out of his arms and out of his sight. Worse is when he has to be the one to leave her. Even when she would come back, he never felt relief. There was only the fear of when it would happen again. He should have wished for her to be gone forever, whisked away across the border without a second thought or goodbye, because then her old life could have been restored without any guilt or hard choices on her part. She could have been with the family she wanted in the first place. Nevertheless, his heart always pulled her back to him, even if they could only speak or touch in the shadows. 

He never let himself feel selfish, though, because seeing her hurt as well. Being together meant she was still stuck under Gilead's thumb. In a different world, he could have pretended that they both had escaped, but that was too much of a hopeless happy ending to ever really believe.

The street is too silent. Residential parts of the district are meant to be quiet, but at the moment it seems like everyone has forgotten to breathe. Wrath has been seeping out of the Waterford house since early morning, and no one can be too cautious around the Commander and his power. It is better to pray for the baby and remain unseen.

Anxiety rises in him but he does not move - the Commander must not see him break. If he shows any outward sign of the crumbling state he's in, he'll have sacrificed his last strength against them. 

When playing with Gilead, it's never a fair game.


	12. another life / MOIRA AND LUKE

A news station plays on the television, showing blurry satellite images of Gilead. Pixelated and out of focus, the streets and rooftops barely look real. Instead of on the news, they should belong in an old film or video game simulation. Inside the bright glass screen lies a barrier of uncertainty. Is this real, or just a bad dream where your home becomes something evil and unrecognizable?

"We would like to remind our viewers that this is a developing story," says the anchor. His voice is startling clear compared to the fuzzy photographs. "Our sources are still being confirmed to be true. This network asks that all who are watching approach this information cautiously and with consideration."

A woman sits cross-legged on the carpeted floor in front of the television. "I wish that one of these days he'd just skip the liability bullshit and get to the actual news," she remarks to the man behind her. Bored sighs and sarcasm aside, when speaking the woman's eyes do not leave the television even for a moment. Her gaze is tethered to the slideshow of pictures and the scrolling words along the bottom of the screen.

"Moira, give the guy a break," he responds. There's not a trace of annoyance in his tone; instead, he speaks softly and glances down at where she sits. Moira and June were always opposites, but that was what made their magnetic pull so strong. Seeing them separated by this horrifying force of tyranny and torture and trauma is hard for him to bear, especially knowing that the pain extends to himself. Not a day goes by without him thinking of the family he lost. To know that the ones you love are not safe, but to not be able to do anything about it, is one of the worst feelings of all.

The two sit in silence as the anchor continues to read his notes. 

"...and this emerging information suggests that the lost baby was born into the Waterford household, much to the rage of Commander Fred Waterford. You might remember him from his diplomatic visit to Canada - and the angry response from protesters that he received - a few months earlier. We understand that he is the leader of the family complex that the baby in question belonged to..."

His chest tightens. "Moira-," he starts, but her panicked voice cuts him off.

"That guardian you met told you that June was pregnant, right? Not some other Handmaid?" she asks, hurriedly standing up.

He nods, eyes still glued the the television. 

Moira stares at him. Her hands have begun to shake, and light from the broadcast behind her flickers through her moving fingers, creating trembling shadows on the ground. Quietly, she says to him, "What did she do?"


	13. emerging / EMILY

A bitter winter wind blows steadily towards her, and she can feel her cheeks turning red from the cold sting. The glimmer of dawn in the distance lights the tops of the otherwise dark trees ablaze with bits of sunlight. 

She's been walking for hours now, though the time has slipped by without her noticing. The freezing air around her, the road beneath her feet, and the surrounding seemingly infinite forest provide a sense of calm. Nothing has changed since she was left here by the truck driver. Maybe if she lets her mind float a little farther away, into the shadows and packed ice, the fear deep inside of her would let go. 

Sounds of humming engines and car horns distract her, drawing her attention to the noise. She leaves the pavement and walks into the woods. Across the way, it looks as if the ground dips downwards into a valley; she finds her feet pulling her closer and closer towards it. To turn back would save her current state of detached peace, but before she can stop herself to consider this she reaches the edge and gasps at what she sees.

Bright and flashing, the lights of the city glow below her. Windows and streetlights and tiny phone screens, televisions and headlights and mirrors – all traces of people who are waking up to another day. The millions of little lights about to be left behind catch her eyes, blurring together when she can’t focus on them all at once. _‘So this is Canada,’_ she thinks; but more importantly, it reminds her of something more: of _life_.

It was almost beautiful. She knew what she should be feeling – relief, joy, or even sorrow – but somehow her mind was blank. The words to describe the breath she exhaled and the lifting of her heart won't come, no matter how much she tries to open her mouth and speak. While she struggles, the baby murmurs and sighs, most likely wondering why they had stood still for so long. Glancing down into the child's soft face and open eyes, Emily smiles slightly.

"Almost there," she whispers, looking back out at the sea of lights before her. 

The wind catches the hem of her red dress, sweeping it across her snow-covered boots. Unprotected by the trees behind her, the same gust tugs at the flaps of her Handmaid bonnet underneath her hood. She reaches up and takes the stiff fabric off, tucking her hood tighter around her face after. With one final look at the spread of buildings and roads before her, she adjusts the bundle in her arms and begins to return to the road that will take her into the city. 

Fingers slack, her bonnet drops into the snow – a set of white wings belonging to a disgraced, fallen angel no more.


	14. keep marching on / JUNE

"Where are you taking me?" June asks, hurrying to follow the girl. 

"There's a storage room in the back," she answered, breaking the previous silence. Her manner had changed since June told her about Holly — somehow, she's quieter and more reserved now than before. There's a trace of fear in her eyes when she glances towards her, though she's avoiding eye contact when possible as if looking directly at June will light a fuse for an already-ticking bomb. "You can stay there and get some sleep while I go find people."

"You're leaving me here?" June stammers. She bites her tongue; she hadn't realized how shaky her voice had become before speaking. "I don't need to stay here long — just until it gets dark again."

The girl turns around and stops for a moment. "I'm not ratting you out," she says. "You'll be safe here, and you need to sleep during the day if you're planning to travel by night. Besides, I know people who can help you."

June nods and breaths as she turns back and keeps walking. "Who?"

"You ever heard of Mayday?" the girl asks, still looking ahead.

Before she could respond, the two reach a door and the girl pulls a key from her jacket pocket. She speaks while unlocking and turning the handle.

"Stay here and stay quiet while I'm gone. It shouldn't take me more than a few hours, but you should still try and rest."

June is lead into a small room. Closet-like, there are factory tools and spare uniforms hanging along the walls. 

"Are you sure this is safe?" she asks hesitantly, eyeing the key in the girl's hand. 

"It is," she responds, pulling the door shut. Before shutting it, she pauses to add, "I promise."

The door closes behind her, blocking out the sharp fluorescent lights and leaving her in a shadowy darkness. It's too quiet for her after everything that's happened. Quiet used to mean rest or peace, but that was before Gilead; now, it only suggests that there's something much worse to come. 

 _'Or something better,'_ she thinks. She's not out of Gilead's reach quite yet, so its negative influence still weighs heavily on her mind. To be optimistic is risky;  _expectant_ is a preferable word. Good, bad, or neither,  _something_ will be sure to happen. Still, she's stuck here in silence one way or the other.

Sighing, she sits down against the wall farthest from the door and tucks her knees into her chest.  _'Let's hope for better.'_


	15. borderline / EMILY

A border can't be seen from space. Why? Like everything else our societies are built on, it only exists in our heads. The multi-colored countries riddling that big dusty globe in your school's library aren't really there. No one took a black marker and outlined America mile by mile after our territory was put on the map. It was there before we said it was. And it will be there after we forget about it. 

Canada was always a whisper in the back of her mind, even before Gilead. She never directly considered it – no one ever believes the worst case scenario will come true. Still, Canada was there if things ever got bad to the point that she couldn't take it anymore. At the time, 'bad' was corrupt politicians and conservative laws. A future where politicians no longer existed wasn't even a consideration back then. Gilead changed everything: months spent in Red Centers and Commander's households and the Colonies gave her enough time to bring thoughts of Canada to the front of her mind, right next to the bold idea of escape.

But now, with numb feet and arms stiff from carrying June's baby for so long, crossing into Canada isn't anything like she imagined.

Everything feels foreign. Shushing the infant, she climbs over branches piled at the edge of someone's backyard and makes her way through the snowy grass onto the sidewalk. The street's dead end would lead right into the woods she just emerged from, like a lost animal or an alien. Everything is quiet, hushed by the dawn. 

For a moment, nothing seems to be hurried or important. No one sees her yet. No one knows she's here. If time could just stop, this world of a long sidewalk and rising sun and sleeping baby would be enough to keep her at peace. For the first time, she realizes how tired she really is.

At the end of the street ahead of her, a snow plow turns the corner. 

"Wait!" she shouts, pushing herself to stumble faster towards where the driver could see her. "Help!" The words barely form in her mouth, her voice shocked and exhausted. Salt and gray snow stick to the wet hem of her dress as she runs. The plow stops, and a man wearing a heavy winter coat gets out. He sees her red uniform, the meaning of it quickly registering on his face.

"I-I need to-", she stutters, but the city worker comes up beside her and pulls out his cell phone, already dialing some number. 

"Hey, don't worry. I'm gonna get you to some people who can help you," he said quickly, guiding her towards the open door of the snow plow. He helped her into the front seat and turned the heat vents all in her direction. "Hello?" he said, pressing the phone to his ear. "Nobody's hurt, but I have a situation..."

As the man turned away to keep speaking, Emily tucked her knees into her chest, resting them against the large dashboard. June's baby had begun to cry softly. "It'll be okay, little one. We made it."


	16. oh, canada / MOIRA AND LUKE

Sunlight barely creeping in through the blinds of the kitchen windows, the landline on the counter rings and goes unanswered. A moment passes; then, a cell phone begins to sound down the hallway. A groan and a shuffle of blankets follows.

"These damn robo-calls are going to be the death of me," mumbles Luke, tiredly rubbing his eyes and reaching for his cell phone. The jarringly bright home screen reads 5:02 a.m. "Hello?" he says into the phone. "Is this a person, or a recording, or...?"

He stops and grows silent. Listening and processing, his weary eyes blink open and grow clearer as each moment passes, creating a look of disbelief on his face. 

"Thanks-thank you," he stutters. "I'll be there right away."

Hanging up, Luke sets the phone down and hastily starts to pull his things together. Shoes, keys, a jacket, his ID — all are tossed onto his bed as he paces the room, mumbling to himself. A knock interrupts him.

"What the hell are you doing up? It's five o'clock," says a sleepy and annoyed looking Moira standing in the doorway. "Besides, you'll wake Erin up if you keep stomping around like that."

Luke's expression stops her mid-complaint. "What?" she asks quietly, walking in and shutting the door behind her.

"The baby," he says. "There's a handmaid — not June — with a baby, at the refugee center in Toronto, who's saying that the baby is June's and that June gave it to her right before she escaped, but the June is still there, and-"

He takes a deep breath and aimlessly gestures towards Moira, finally blurting out, "I told them I'd be there as soon as I could."

Moira slowly nods, glancing down at herself and then at Luke. "Okay. We'll go as soon as we get dressed and tell Erin what's up."

"Right," he repeats as Moira walks out. _Stay calm. Drive into the city. Meet a most-likely traumatized woman who has illegally brought your wife's baby across the border._ The thoughts run through his head.  _Just an ordinary day, right?_

 


	17. dark lights / JUNE

June sighs. For once her mind is unclouded, calm, content. There’s a pair of heavy arms wrapped around her waist, cinching the blanket between her skin and his. But when she turns to see his face the image wavers. Truthfully, she doesn’t know who is lying beside her, holding her. Is there a glimpse of red, a dress draped over a chair, in the corner of her eye? Or is it a warm shadow cast onto the wall of her home? It’s funny for her to think of the word home. Neither place that just now fluttered into her dream-drunk mind is one she’ll ever see again, at least not how it was when she left it.

The warm feeling of her dream begins to fade away. The cold wall of the storage room presses into her back, stirring her awake. Someone is shaking her shoulder.

"Hey," they say softly as she sleepily opens her eyes to look up at them. It's the guardian girl from before. "I'm back. There's some people who want to talk to you outside, if you're ready."

Everything around her is still blurry from the dream. June slowly stands, rubbing her eyes. "Okay," she mumbles.

The girl frowns slightly. "Are you all right?" she asks, a bit of concern slipping into her voice. 

The room is so, so cold.  _Get it together,_ June thinks.  _You're not there anymore._

"I'm fine," she says quickly. "Who wants to talk to me?" she adds, making an effort to slow down her words and appear calm.

The girl doesn't respond right away; instead, she motions for June to walk out into the main part of the factory and follows her into the bright artificial glow of the generator lights. Three people stand clustered a few feet away, whispering to each other. Although their wrinkled clothes and tired eyes give away their obvious exhaustion, their voices are brisk.

"Here's the handmaid," the girl says to them. "The baby is hers."

June stays silent, watching their faces. One steps closer and extends his hand, saying, "I'm Thomas, and these two are Bethany and Mark. We all work for Mayday."

She shakes his hand as the woman behind him, Bethany, starts speaking. She's dressed in the gray cloth known to econo-wives. 

"As far as we know, your baby has been taken across the border," she says.

June interrupts, concerned. "Is she safe?"

"We don't know. News travels cautiously within Mayday, so it might be some time before one of us hears anything from our allies in Canada."

June turns to the guardian girl. "So, what's going to happen?"

"Thomas, Bethany, and Mark are already living underground, transporting people like you away from threats. They can help you get where you need to be," she explains.

"What about you?" 

"I'll stick with you."

The other man steps forward. "It would be in your best interest to get out of Gilead." 

June shakes her head. "No," she says firmly. "I'm staying to fight, whatever that means for me."

He nods shortly. "Alright. If you both are up to it, we should be going while it's still dark."

He walks away to join the others from Mayday, and the group begins talking amongst themselves again about locations and specifics. The girl glances at June before starting to head after them.

"Hey," June says, stopping her. "Why are you helping me? You weren't going to, but now you are."

She looks away, fixing her jacket. "I'm a part of Mayday — it's what we do," she says. A moment passes before she says anything else. "You're in a lot of danger."

June nods. _Thanks for reminding me,_ she thinks. "But I don't even know who you are."

The girl sighs. "The more we know about each other, the riskier this gets. I already know too much of what happened to you."

June keeps staring, forcing her to look up and make eye contact. Her small frame seems childlike besides June's; she can't be much older than Eden was, and she clearly has spent too much time alone without taking care of herself. A knot of worry forms in June's stomach. If anything happens to her, this girl is going to go down with her.

"At least tell me your name," she says quietly. 

The girl takes a breath. "Joanna." Smiling a little, she adds, "Ironic, right?"

June laughs. "Why?"

"It's biblical," she says. "It means God's graciousness, cured of sin, or something like that."

June shrugs. "See, I was thinking Joan of Arc."

"I wish," Joanna responds. "I doubt that was what my parents were thinking when they picked it."

"Either way, it's nice." June pauses before adding. "I'm June."


	18. arrival (part one) / EMILY

Her arrival was quiet.

Dawn still just barely creeping over the horizon, it's faint orange light makes the sleeping streets of the city glow. A city shuttle, empty except for a disheveled, tired-looking social worker from the refugee center, pulls up beside the snow plow. A few police cars follow it. 

Emily sees the police walk up to the driver who called in and begin talking to him as the social worker climbs out of the shuttle and approaches where she's sitting. 

"Hello! I'll be your temporary case worker for the next few days, but before we get into all of that, we're going to get you to our building, okay?"

She nods, and slowly climbs down from the front seat, clutching June's baby tightly against her chest. Glancing over the shoulder of one of the police, she spots a young girl peeking out from behind her mother's legs. The pair are standing on their front step, hesitantly watching the events of her rescue, clearly having just woken up. An emotion she can't quite identify stirs inside of her before she's led away into the shuttle. 

Emily watches through the window as the houses grow smaller behind her — the first chapter of this new life, already closed.  _Maybe I'll come back one day,_ she thinks. It still hasn't fully hit her that from now on, she's free to go wherever and do whatever she wants. Honestly, it doesn't feel real.

* * *

 "So, could you tell us your name?"

Her case worker and a volunteer from the center sit across from her. A cup of steaming coffee and a blanket are on the table in front of her, neither of which she's touched (even though she's still shivering from the cold outside). The baby sleeps in her arms, head pressed against her dirty red sleeve. 

"Of- um, Emily," she mumbles. The words are dry in her mouth.

"Alright." The volunteer begins to fill in a form, while her case worker continues speaking. "And the baby? Does it have a name?"

Emily swallows. "Nichole."

The case worker looks down at the sleeping infant and smiles, causing Emily doing the same. "Is that a name you picked, or did the others in your house decide?"

She looks up, confused. "Oh, um, I think you misunderstood. This isn't my baby."

The volunteer stops writing. "Oh," says the case worker. "Sorry, I didn't know. If you don't mind me asking, whose baby is it?"

"Another handmaid who was supposed to escape with me, well, she handed me her baby as we were getting into the truck. She didn't come with us. I don't know why." Emily pauses before adding, "Her name is June. June Osbourne."

Suddenly, the two people across from her stop and lock eyes. The volunteer begins to look slightly pale. 

"June Osbourne?" he repeats. "From the Boston district?"

"Yes," Emily replies shakily. "Why, is something wrong?"

Her case worker stands up and gathers the papers on the desk, motioning for the volunteer to do the same. "Nothing's wrong, dear. I'm just going to go check with one of my — um, coworkers about something. This young man here will be back in just a moment with some warmer clothes you can change into."

"Okay," she responds, hesitating. "Wait, are you sure? That nothing is wrong?"

The woman stops in the doorway, volunteer moving past her to get the clothes. "Of course. Don't worry — everything is  _fine._ "

Still, left alone in the room with a window overlooking the city — a  _Canadian_ city — Emily wasn't sure she believed her.


	19. arrival (part two) / EMILY

Emily sits at the table, alone, silent except for the small sounds coming from the baby in her arms. Another moment passes before there's a light knock on the door. The volunteer from before steps inside, holding out a clear plastic bag.

"Here's some dry things for you. The rest of your refugee stuff is coming, but — well, we're sorting it out." He sounds unsure of himself, new to this and unequipped to answer the questions she undoubtedly had.

"Wait," Emily says, stopping him. She holds June's baby closer, as if to cover her ears. "I know there's something going on. Just tell me," she whispers, glancing down at the child in her arms. "Is she safe here?"

The volunteer pauses. "We'll make it so that it is. I promise." Without giving her a chance to respond, he flashed her a quick smile and left again, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Emily looks down at the bag of clothes on the table. Sighing, she gingerly stands up and gives the infant a tender squeeze before setting her down. She slowly unbuttoned her red dress, slipping out of her uniform for the last time. She shivered as she awkwardly pulled on the donated clothes. There was a sweater, a few pairs of socks, clean undergarments, gloves; but most notably,  _pants._ Even in the colonies, Gilead had given her a uniform with a skirt. 

The fabric feels foreign on her skin. Even with the many layers, she's somehow colder than before. Quickly, she reaches out for little baby Nichole. It's the first time she's been out of Emily's arms since June handed her over days ago — or has it been hours? The memory hit her like a strong wave. The water, the brick, the darkness; screaming June's name, feeling the ground move beneath her as the truck sped away, numb hands gripping the infant's blankets because it was the only thing in the entire world she could hold onto. After all of those years spent wishing for a miracle escape, a release from the hell that surrounded her, she never imagined her dream would feel like such a nightmare.

A sob caught in her throat and tears, burning tears, welled up in her eyes.  _Get it together, Emily._ _Get yourself together._

* * *

"I've called the family. Her husband escaped to Toronto a few years ago, at the same time she was caught and brought to a Red Center. He's living with two other Gilead refugees — both handmaids, one who apparently knew the mother before the takeover — so he should be well suited for the baby. They've been active with the efforts here in Canada as well. Honestly, it's probably the best we could hope for considering...the situation." The case worker spoke all of this information into the phone in her hand. "Still, we need to alert the government somehow — there's been threats of war, after all, just over this baby." She paused, listening. "All right. Talk to you later."

* * *

Moira and Luke stand in the elevator, quiet. He fidgets with his coat, shifting his weight back and forth. 

"Calm down," Moira says, watching the number of the floors tick upwards as the elevator kept rising.

"Sorry," Luke mumbles. "It's just — nevermind."

The doors slide open and the two walk out. A woman is already waiting for them. Her face lights up when she notices that they're there. "Luke, Moira, thank you for coming right away. She's in the room down the hall. I'll walk you there," she says, ushering them down the hallway and towards a closed door. Luke glances at Moira, a troubled look on his face. She shrugs in response. 

The woman knocks, but before she opens the door she turns back to say something. "We'll sort through everything with the officials later; for now, go meet your daughter."

Luke nods and hesitantly walks inside. The woman motions for Moira to follow, but she stops as she passes her in the doorway. "Officials?" she asks.

The woman frowns. "This is the baby of the Waterford household. It hasn't reached the major news cycle yet because we've been mostly getting the information from underground, but things are breaking down across the border. We have some sources saying that Fred Waterford is threatening war with Canada unless we return the child."

Moira held in her breath. "But I don't understand — where's June? If she's not with the baby, how did she escape?"

"We don't know. Emily just told us that June handed her the baby before she escaped."

"Emily?" Moira turns and enters the room. There at the table next to Luke, holding a baby swaddled in white blankets, sat a girl her age. She was wearing regular clothes now, but Moira could tell from the look in her eyes that she was a handmaid.

She cradles the baby, clearly struggling to make eye contact with Moira and Luke. "I'm sorry about June," she says finally. "I'm so, so sorry..." Tears roll down her cheeks as she tries to pull herself together, to no avail.

"Hey, it's okay," Moira says quickly, kneeling down beside her. "There's nothing you could have done. There must have been some reason why she stayed." _She's clever that way,_ she thought.  _Clever and stupid._

Luke holds out his arms as Emily wipes her tears. "Here," he says. "Let me take her for a minute." Emily nods, passing the baby to him. Moira squeezes her hand reassuringly, and after a moment her breathing returns to normal.

Luke smiles down at the infant, tears of his own wetting his eyes. A little part of his love was right in front of him, touching him. It wasn't June, it wasn't Hannah, but it was still real.

"I have to make a quick phone call," the case worker says from the doorway. "Just come out to the front desk if any of you need anything."

It was a small, patched-together sort of thing, but what each of them felt was true — they would do anything for this baby. For June.

 


	20. crusaders / THE COUNCIL

Commander Waterford stands behind the podium, the first to do so since Serena and the other Wive's voiced their concerns for the future. Today, he'll be doing the same — just suggesting progress the other direction. His hands rest calmly at his sides. After hours of gritted teeth and barked orders, he begins to speak in a remarkably smooth tone.

"Gentlemen. Sons of Jacob, shepherds of God's graceful will. As you know, my house has faced much hardship in the past months. Our faith has been tested again and again; still, we find strength within the promise of a new and better future for Gilead."

The men around him stay silent, a few nodding, but most waiting for what he has to say next. After all, they all know of his 'hardships' — Eden was put on trial and accepted her punishment of death, his recent attempt to represent Gilead in Canada was met with resistance and a shameful return home, his Handmaid has run away on three separate occasions, and now his baby is lost. Either he will prove to them he has reached a higher understanding of God's universe and its workings, or they will need no further convincing that his house has been infiltrated by sin.

"We have felt the breath of a great sin on the backs of our necks for some time now," Waterford continues. "A sin greater than anything we have encountered before."

Someone speaks up. "What sin? From where?" they ask.

"The border," he responds. "We have put up with the wickedness of our neighbors for long enough. Gilead is stronger than the forces of the devil — so why wait to spread grace?"

More of the commanders nod along with his words. "We must start by locating the baby," one says, standing and looking towards Waterford. "The children of Gilead are our greatest blessing. From there, we can expand our crusade, beyond the territories to the world." His words are met with a roar of support.

Another, however hesitant, stands amidst the applause. "Should we not try to negotiate with the Canadian government? Surely they must have the resources to return the child to us."

The Commander cracked a smile, though his gaze remained cold and serious as he met the eyes of each man in the room as it grew quiet again. "We have read in the scripture that _the kingdom of God does not consist in talk, but in power_. What other guidance do we need?"


	21. home / JUNE

The people from Mayday lead her and Joanna out of the warehouse to a paved area in the back where a Gilead factory van is parked. As she walks, June tries not to look down at the jacket she's wearing — black and masculine, it reminds her of something belonging to Nick's uniform.  _Focus,_ she reminds herself. Getting nostalgic will only make things harder from now on. 

Thomas pulls a ring of keys out of his pocket, unlocking the van and pulling its wide doors open. Other than a few blankets, it's empty inside. He climbs into the driver's seat, the others following him.

"Should I go in the back, or get under something, or...? June suggests, familiar with how this usually goes. 

"No need," Bethany says shortly, passing by her. She motions for June to get in. "Factory vehicles don't get stopped — the Guardians could care less about the actual labor that's putting food in their mouths and guns in their hands."

June glances over at Joanna, but she's looking out the window, scanning the darkness.  _I guess this is it,_ June thinks. She crawls around the passenger seat and sits on the floor of the van, pressing her back against its metal side. Soon after, Thomas starts the engine and they start moving.

Nerves flicker in her chest. The two men are sitting in the front, chatting quietly with each other, so at least that looks less suspicious. Still, the three of them in the back of an empty van feels odd.

"Where are we going?" she asks, trying to sound confident. 

Joanna responds, turning away from the window. "A larger Mayday base."

"You can stay there if you want, or we can keep moving," Bethany adds. "Where is it that you're headed, anyway?"

June pauses. Where was she heading? Deep inside, she just wants to find Hannah and get as far away from Gilead as possible, but she knows there was more. Janine, baby Charlotte, Rita, Nick, all of the Marthas who saved her and Holly — she couldn't leave them behind. She remembers the letters, the creased and torn words of so many women who refused to give up hope. Their words never left her, even though almost a year had passed. 

"Home," she says.

Bethany stays silent, confused as to what she means, probably thinking that the Handmaid was becoming delusional under the pressure. Joanna looked up and her eyes met June's; for just a moment, she seemed to understand.  _Home._ It wasn't Gilead, or even America. Neither had given them what they had wanted. But this place, these people — they were something worth fighting for. They were the hope for the future.


	22. daughter / NARRATOR

Light has just begun to blink into your darkness. It slips into the edges of your vision in the places your eyes can't focus on yet. You belong to no one but the world — that power hasn't been taken away from you yet. You are  _young_ , you are _beginning_ , you are _free_.

You are the daughter to so many and yet you only know to exist for yourself. You were brought to life in a moment of pain, but your mother made sure to pour enough love over you to make up for the past. Her love is the fuel burning brightly to keep you warm. Another woman tried to make herself your mother, but her love was never for you — it was for the idea of you, a possibility that would forever be out of reach. You, darling, are more than an idea. 

Home is not something you know of yet. You were taken from a place of warmth to somewhere cold-hearted and numb; later, carried away into the night by shaking arms on a long road to somewhere.

There's a family for you out there — scattered across countries, separated but not severed. You have a sister who doesn't know about you yet, a father who has given you up to give you better chance, a mother who is fighting to bring you back together with everyone who loves you. A stranger saved your life and will never really leave it. Those who should have been with you when you were born will take care of you until everything is set right again. Looking back, it might never make sense to you why your life had to begin this way.

So many people care about you; some for the wrong reasons, some for the best. Either way, it will work out in the end. 

You may not have been meant to be, but now you are, and that's all that matters _._


	23. mission / NICK

Radio static cuts through the silence in every home across Gilead. Commanders, Wives, Handmaids, and Marthas alike all gather around — listening, overcome by readiness or horror. Someone begins to speak.

_"Blessed people of Gilead: there have been tremendous advancements made in our great country in the years since our founding. We commend each and every one of you who have lived without sin and have dedicated yourselves to the work of God. However, with advancements come setbacks. Early this morning, an infant was stolen from the Republic of Gilead."_

Gasps, clenched fists, inward smiles — each listener reacts differently. At the Waterford household, the Commander stands proudly next to his wife, who is sitting quietly and gazing absentmindedly at the blue fabric of her dress. He knows what is coming next. This is his victory.

Rita glances to her side where Nick stands, frozen. He doesn't dare make eye contact with her; he's still putting on a show. 

_"This is not the first example of outward sin affecting Gilead, but it will be the last. Our troops will no longer just be defending the borders — they will be advancing them. We will_ _fight the good fight of faith."_

Nick grinds his teeth as the Commander begins to clap, smiling smugly out at the room. The radio returns to static. Sensing a chance to leave, Nick quickly nods and walks out of the room. Thoughts of June and baby Holly swarm his mind. As he hurriedly passes through the kitchen to get outside, a voice catches his ear.

"Nick! I see that you're eager to return to work."

Nick turns to see the Commander standing in the doorway. _Damn it,_ he thinks. "I am, sir," he says out loud.

The Commander shifts his weight and leans against the door frame, clearly enjoying the thought of what he's about to do. Nick waits, not moving.

"I was speaking to the other Commanders after the most recent council meeting, and they all agree that you would do better serving Gilead from a more proactive position than just being my driver," he says. "To be frank with you, I've felt that I've been holding you down with menial tasks for years."

Nick swallows hard and tries to keep his voice level. "Sir, it is an honor to serve however my country needs me."

"Of course," the Commander responds. "And that is why we decided you should be given an additional assignment — a mission, of sorts. You'll still be stationed at this house, but with the new war effort you'll be called away occasionally to complete different tasks for Gilead."

 _He's doing something behind my back and needs an excuse to get rid of me,_ Nick thinks, processing what the Commander has just said.  _What's he up to? What's he planning?_

"Thank you," is how he responds. 

The Commander smiles again, pleased that he is continuing to win at his game. "Good," he says, shortly after adding, "Meet me in my study tomorrow for details regarding your first trip." With that, he leaves.

Nick stands there in the kitchen for a moment. He closes his eyes, trying to shut out the world around him. He can hear Rita with Serena, still in the sitting room; he has a few moments to himself. Holding the baby, helping her escape, threatening the Commander — it all made him feel in control, even it was only for a few hours. Now, none of it has lasted, and things are only worse.  _I'm so sorry, June,_ he thinks.  _I wish I could do more._

 


	24. what now? / EMILY, MOIRA, and LUKE

Emily sits watching Luke and Moira gently get to know the baby, speaking in hushed tones and asking her a question once in a while. Sometimes it was about the baby, sometimes about how she got here. She would answer briefly, holding as much of the bad stuff back so as not to darken the mood. Those stories could be told later.

There's a knock on the door. Quietly, the case worker from before walks in. "How's everything going?" she asks. Moira and Luke glance up at her, while Emily's sleep-heavy eyes stay locked on the baby. 

"Fine," Moira responds. "But what happens now? I remember the process being pretty quick with me, but how's it different with a baby?"

Emily's head snaps up. "You were in Gilead?"

Moira's expression changes from calm to slightly frowning as the memories of Gilead evidently rush back into her mind. "Yeah," she replies. "It was hell."

 _'I know,'_ Emily wants to respond, but instead she remains silent, fixing her eyes on June's baby once more. 

The case worker shifts her weight, reminding them of her presence a few feet away. Answering Moira's question, she begins, "Well, we approach each case differently, depending on the situation." Pausing, she adds, "I'm afraid this situation might need some extra time."

Luke nods, looking to Moira. She stands and pulls out her cell phone. "I'll call Erin and let her know," she says, knowing what he was about to suggest. The case worker moves out of the doorway to let her out into the hallway. Stepping back, she turns to Emily.

"I know it seems that we've been preoccupied with the baby, but we do have your family contact list pulled up from our files if you'd like to take a look at it. We also have a room set up for you in case you need to stay overnight." 

"That's great," Luke says. Facing Emily, he adds, "You should probably get some sleep after you get your paperwork finished. From what you've told us, it sounds like you haven't had a chance to rest in a few days."

Emily takes a deep breath, trying to swallow the nerves that suddenly shot up from her chest. "I'm fine here, really," she says to the case worker. "I don't want to give you one more thing to do.

"It's no trouble, dear," the woman responds with a smile. "Here, follow me — we'll get you set up in just a minute." She starts to walk out of the room.

Hesitant, Emily doesn't move at first. ' _I'll just get the papers and come back, stay with the baby,'_ she thinks, standing up. She notices staring at her, and meets his eyes. 

"Hey, don't worry about us," he says. "Take as long as you need to sort things out. Moira and I will still be here when you get back."

Emily manages nod and smile back at him before following the case worker into the hallway. They turn the corner and reach an open area with desks and filing cabinets. Emily walks slowly, unsure of her surroundings, while the woman hurries about. Finding what she was looking for, she stops and smiles. "Here's your file," she says, handing a stack of papers in a folder to Emily. She leans on the desk behind her as Emily stares down at what she's just been given. "If there's anyone that you'd like to contact, our offices can do that for you."

Emily opens the folder, her fingers cold and shaky. The papers are stiff; clearly, they haven't been touched since they were first printed and labelled. Much to her surprise, the pages are full of information recording her involvement in Mayday, her entry and exit from the Red Center, and her exile to the Colonies.

"How did you get all of this?" she asks, voice barely audible over the exploding thoughts spinning in her head.

"Knowledge isn't the problem," the woman replies. "We have spies working underground in almost every district.  _Doing_ something with the information we receive is where we reach a dead end."

Emily returns to the file. There's one paper that stands out; it's emptier, with more white space than the others. Two names are typed neatly at the top of the otherwise blank page — Sylvia, and beneath that, Oliver. Her heart nearly stops as she reads the words, realizing what they mean. Her family. They were here.


	25. dearest / JUNE

June shuts her eyes and wraps her arms tightly around her chest. It’s been three days since she arrived with the others at Mayday’s base: much like the warehouse, this is a hollowed-out factory building. Joanna had told her on the drive there that Gilead had abandoned the property when there was an issue found in the vent system. Now completely empty and dark, it didn’t come as any surprise to June that the gnawing cold could be felt just as sharply inside the factory’s walls as outside them. She shivers and pulls the too-large jacket she was given at the warehouse closer. After a moment of stillness, her body begins to shake again and her eyes reluctantly open. Whether the temperature or her stir-crazed mind are to blame, June can’t seem to get any rest. Waiting in another empty building, hidden away in some dusty dark corner, everything reminds her of her first attempt at escape. The urge to run off on her own has returned despite her logical thoughts telling her to be patient and trust Mayday. _They’ve survived here longer and better than you have,_ she thinks again and again. _Don’t be stupid._

“June?”

A questioning voice behind her interrupts her thoughts. She turns and begins to stand. The person who spoke her name is a member of Mayday she hasn’t seen before — a slight woman dressed in dirty gray worker’s overalls. Strands of white hair hang loosely around her gaunt, creased face. June slowly realizes that the woman before her must be in her late seventies, eighties even. _How is she here?_ she wonders. After all, the elderly were all sent to the Colonies when Gilead took over. With a twinge of guilt in her chest, June realizes that this woman has been waiting in this factory much longer than she has, or ever will.

Before June can open her mouth to respond or offer help, the old woman continues speaking. “Bethany and the others wanted me to tell you that it’d be possible for you to be sent off tomorrow morning with a group of Marthas. They’re heading back to a district neighboring the one you spoke about — your daughter’s, I believe?”

A lump forms in June’s throat. She quickly nods, unable to talk.

“They’ll give you the details in the morning. For now, you should try to sleep. Oh, also - ” the woman stops herself, and faintly smiles. Her eyes crinkle and a little color returns to her cheeks. “ - I’m so pleased for you, dear. Good luck.” 

June barely holds herself together until the woman leaves, collapsing on the ground as soon as she walks away. Tears stream down her face.  _Hannah, Hannah, Hannah_. Her daughter's name echoes in her head.  _I'm coming back._

 

 

 

 

 


	26. morning / JUNE

For June, morning is arriving painfully slow and sleep is refusing to come. She does her best to wipe the streaks of tears from her cheeks before walking towards the large doors of the factory building. Pressing against the cold metal, she squints her eyes and tries to see if the sun is rising through the small space between the door and the wall. It's no use — all she sees is more darkness.

Sighing, June tiredly drags her feet and starts to walk back to where she was sitting before. In the corner of her eye, she catches a moving shadow. She recognizes the shape as it comes closer.

"Joanna?" She walks towards the girl as she turns around at June's voice. "What are you doing awake?"

Joanna laughs a little. "I should be asking you the same question — you know you're leaving tomorrow, right? You're going to need the energy."

June sighs and looks away. "I just want to get moving before something changes and it's too late." They're silent for a moment, and the whistling wind on the other side of the door is all that can be heard. As June is about to say goodbye and step away, Joanna says something unexpected.

"Why are you doing this?" 

June stops, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You're risking your life, throwing away the best chance you'll ever have to escape, just to find a little girl who probably doesn't even remember what life was like before all of this." Joanna gestures around her at the dark factory, agitated but clearly sincere in her words. "Why do it?"

"Because she's my daughter," June responds, surprised. "She always will be, no matter what Gilead has done. I need to find her because I love her." She pauses, and then continues, "Joanna, I almost got out of here last year, when I was pregnant. The plane I was in was shot down and group of soldiers caught me. They killed everyone who helped me escape." Her voice breaks a little, but she takes a deep breath and keeps going. "When I was hiding, all I could think about was how I was leaving my daughter behind to save another. My baby is in good hands now— hands better than mine — so how could I leave all of the others behind? How could I leave  _my daughter_ behind?" Tears form in her already red and swollen eyes as she finishes. 

Joanna is quiet. Blinking quickly to keep the blurry tears away, June notices that the girl's hands are shaking.

"Joanna..." June whispers, trying to meet her eyes. "How did you find Mayday?

How do you tell a story that you've pushed to the back of your mind, one that rouses emotions that you've swallowed over and over, just to keep from remembering? Words sit jumbled on Joanna's tongue, and she tries to sort them out into something coherent that June could understand. 

"When I was younger — six, maybe seven years old — my parents tried having another baby, but he was stillborn. They were never able to recover. When Serena Joy and her husband started spreading all of their radical religious bullshit, my parents fell for all of it. They turned us into the perfect example of a Gilead family. I was supposed to marry this soldier, one of the men involved in the attack against Congress, when the war at the border broke out. That was how I managed to get out."

Her voice was quiet, almost defeated sounding. It was clear to June that she was trying to deny how much she was still hurting.

"The war started years ago," June says. "What are you still doing with Mayday?"

"Where else can I go?" Joanna responds, shaking her head. "There's no one there for me in Canada. If I was caught, I'd either have to repent and go back to my parents or be killed. Mayday is the safest place, the _only_ place for me now."

June stares at the girl in front of her — the brave one, pretending not to feel anything because all love had ever done to her was burn and betray. In that moment, June hated Gilead a little more than before. Stepping forward, she wraps her arms around Joanna's shoulders and pulls her into a hug.

"Don't give up on yourself, Joanna," she whispers into her ear. "There's a family out there for you somewhere." 

She could feel Joanna take a deep breath."I don't think I'll ever understand you, June," she whispers back. June pulls away so she can see Joanna's face.

"I hope that one day you do."

In the other parts of the building, flashlights were beginning to switch on and the voices of the other Mayday members could be heard. Morning had come. June hesitated and glanced at the door. 

"I guess you're off, then," Joanna says. She straightens her back and takes a breath. "Goodbye, June."

June smiles, even though her stomach was tied in knots. Morning had come — it was time to go.


	27. little america / EMILY

Gloved hand clutching the folder the case worker at the refugee center gave her, Emily wanders down the concrete sidewalk. She’s moving slowly considering the freezing temperature and her few layers of poorly-fitting clothing. The volunteer who drove her here had looked confused when she asked to be let out on the street instead of at a building or house, but didn’t refuse. _They’re probably used to crazy girls from Gilead by now,_ Emily thinks.

She reaches into the pocket of her coat, pulling out the cell phone that came with her bag of donated things. The digital screen makes her squint — it’s been years since she’s been allowed to be this close to bright, modern technology. Clumsily, she finds the app with a map of Toronto. Before leaving the center, Luke and Moira had given her the address of their apartment so she could stop by once they were home with June’s baby. A small red dot surrounded by a mess of streets and building names marks where they live on the map. Another dot, close to theirs, is also on the map, but when Emily sees it she quickly shuts the phone off and slips it back into her pocket. Her heart beats strangely fast as she blinks the image from her mind and keeps walking.

Ahead of her, small American flags wave in the wind. They hang from almost every window, every door. This is Little America: the Canadian home for the people who once called themselves, proudly, the 'free' and the 'brave'.

Emily takes a deep breath, stopping. The cell phone feels heavy in her pocket. She knows what she’s doing — ignoring, stalling. The truth is that the workers at the refugee center told her where her wife was living now with their son, in Little America, just a twenty minute drive out of Toronto and a short walk down the street from where Moira and Luke live. Still, she can’t get her feet to take her there, or get her heart to stop pounding. Knowing her fear is irrational doesn’t make it go away.

Sighing, Emily looks around. The clouds are gray and cover the sky, and the streets are almost completely empty and quiet. She pulls out the phone map again, zooming in on the red dot marking the address she wasn’t avoiding. It was just a few minutes walk from where she was standing.

 _Should I?_ she wonders to herself. Before she even has time to decide, her mind has already thought out a plan. She would just stay a few hours, until the day was almost over and there’d be more people outside. The silence of the mid-afternoon city was going to drive her insane if she stayed there any longer, and there was no way she’d convince herself to go to the other address anytime soon. Besides, Moira and Luke would be at the Toronto refugee center for days longer — they would never need to know she was there. _Right?_ she thinks, before reassuring herself. _Right._

Now with a purpose in her step, Emily hurriedly walks towards the apartment building and begins climbing the stairs to the second floor. _Please, nobody see me,_ she desperately thinks. Soon, she reaches their door. Hesitant, she takes the key out of her pocket and sticks it into the lock. “You’re welcome whenever you like,” was what they had told her when they handed her the key less than an hour ago. _It’s okay,_ Emily thinks. _Just go inside._

She turns the doorknob and steps through the doorway. Shutting the door behind her, she takes a long look around the apartment. It looked like a real home, with windows and a television and a microwave in the kitchen and-

“Moira?” someone calls out. “Luke?”

Emily freezes. From the hallway to her left comes a blonde, short-haired girl who appears to be a few years younger than her. When she sees Emily standing there, she stops and gasps, looking ready to run towards the door.

“It’s okay,” Emily says quickly. “They sent me here.” Worry rises in her chest as she sees how frightened the girl looks.  _I shouldn't have come here...this was a stupid idea._   _“_ It’s okay, I promise,” she repeats.

Slowly, the girl lets go of the tension in her stance and takes a step forward. "I'm Erin. I live here." The line sounds a little rehearsed and robotic, as if her brain was going through its programming, trying to remember how to function, after its initial panic.

"I'm Emily," she replies. "I can go, it's not a big deal-"

"No," Erin says quickly. "You can stay. Sorry, I just wasn't expecting anyone to be coming by today."

They both stare at each other for a moment before either one moves. Breaking the silence, Erin goes to sit on the couch and, with a glance, invites Emily to join her. 

"Is everything okay?" she asks as Emily sits down. "Moira called and told me they'd be at the center for a while longer, but she didn't tell me there was someone else with them." Emily can tell that Erin's trying to stay calm, but the nervousness can be heard in her voice.

 _She deserves to know,_ Emily thinks. "Everything's fine. I was just there with them because, well-"  _Shit, how do I say this?_ "-I just got here. From, you know, Gilead. I really should be heading someplace else right now, but I just can't seem to — sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you all of this." 

Erin watches as Emily struggles to speak. After she stops and the room is silent again, she quietly adds, "You can talk to me. I know how it feels,"

Emily looks away. Deep inside, she doesn't know what she's feeling. There's a numbness, a part of her heart that's been torn out of her. In Gilead, she taught herself how not to feel anything for longer than a moment. Now she's stuck in a world made up of just that — moments, fleeting moments that won't connect in any way or give her any sense of reality, of direction, or of being alive again. She taught herself to reset after every interaction and after every thought just to keep from feeling the pain. Suddenly, she needs to face the time that's passed.

"I don't know how to be here," she whispers as tears form in her eyes. Erin moves closer and puts her arm around Emily's shaking shoulders as she cries.  _It gets better eventually,_ she thinks, but doesn't say out loud. Words still make her uncomfortable, and nothing she can tell Emily will make much difference anyway. Instead, she stays by her side and patiently waits while Emily sobs: a badly broken girl trying to keep another from shattering any more than she already has.


	28. driven / NICK

Snowflakes flurries against his windshield, sticking wherever they land. The white specks marking the otherwise smooth black shell of the car give Nick a fragment of relief. As he watches the snow fall down from the sky, he remembers the parts of the world that Gilead cannot touch. 

His life, on the other hand, is not one of them — it's being twisted and reshaped by the will of Gilead. The Commander's last words to him echo through Nick's memory while he drives, instructions for his 'mission'. 

_"There's a household in another district that needs temporary assistance. Are you familiar with the Peterson family?"_

He is. Commander Peterson was one of the few men on the council who's resisting Waterford's new plan of action for the Republic. Considerably older and with more experience than Waterford, it's clear that he doesn't approve of this recent shift of influence and power. 

_"Their Guardian was married last year, at the same group ceremony you attended, and consummated a successful pregnancy with his wife. She delivered the baby yesterday. However, God blessed them with their child a few weeks earlier than expected, and now Commander Peterson and his family are without a driver. The replacement should arrive by the end of the month. Until then, I told them that you would be more than happy to assist."_

At this thought, Nick takes a deep breath and tries to refocus on the road. His hands sit still, firmly on the steering wheel, although every other muscle in his body is tense and screaming to make a sudden movement or action. Images of a girl in a gray dress and the smell of chlorine flash through his mind, guilt following. 

_"While you're there, it would be a great help to the rest of the Council and I if you could deliver these documents to Commander Peterson. You're welcome to discuss them together to pass the time — after all, his house will be rather quiet now, don't you think?"_

The papers sat in the passenger seat next to him. Like a numbing drug, a measured calmness suddenly overcomes him. Years in Gilead have trained him to know his emotional limits. Driving towards yet another assignment, Nick straightens his back and stares out at the road _—_ the same feelings of frustration and regret compartmentalized deep inside him, hidden somewhere that they can't distract him or interfere what he knows he must do. He's just a body going through the motions until a rare moment of opportunity comes for him to act.

There is no place he can escape to. There is no freedom, no resting place, for the man who has driven himself out of his own mind.


	29. women's work / JUNE

In a society built on the image of an unfeeling, stoic man, sorrow is women's work. Those cold suffocating roots growing around your heart are the cross you bear from cradle to grave — always waiting to return in a moment of weakness, when the peace can't last much longer and something must break. The stillness around you begs to be filled but when you reach to find something to hold onto your hands return coated with dust. 

How much apathy can you take?

* * *

Six weeks have passed since June left Mayday and began her hidden life as a Martha. She is no longer June, but Jane; her red uniform has been exchanged for one of dirty green. For six weeks, she has been lucky enough not to be noticed. The dark rooms beneath a house larger and older than the one she lived in before as a Handmaid are her prison and refuge — safe, but confining. Another Martha works upstairs and gives her small tasks to do while she keeps the rest of the household in order. Scrubbing dishes, folding clothes, splitting the soap rations into separate tins for each bathroom, are all ways that June stays busy as she hides. 

Some nights the main Martha leaves to do Mayday work during the night, and June is left alone in the quiet cellars. She has a cot and rough blankets to sleep on, which she uses no matter how much she would prefer to curl up in the corner out of sight. To hide is to give away your guilt, after all, and now June's only job is to act blameless. 

 _Try and sleep_ , she tells herself, wrapping the fraying cloth around her shoulders and shutting her eyes. Sleep has become a sort of drug for June. In her dreams, there's an arm wrapped around her shoulder and a baby can be heard softly crying down the hall. The bright face of her daughter appears as she blinks open her eyes. Like any drug, it has it's drawbacks — she always wakes up alone, surrounded by a paralyzing stillness that seems to seep into her bones. No amount of busy work during the day can shake the numb feeling from her.

There are moments, only at early dawn or late dusk, when she is allowed a slight escape. The laundry might need hanging or the food scraps need tossing — either way, June is let outside. A mixture of fear and excitement pound in her chest as she pulls her thin kerchief that covers her hair down so it shades her face. From the corner of her eye, she watches the house across and down the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of a little girl in pink playing in the yard.  _Hannah, be patient,_ she'll whisper.  _Be strong._

She hears a clock twice chime through the floorboards, coming from a room somewhere above her that she will most likely never see. 2 a.m. The Mayday Martha left soon after sunset, but still hasn't returned.  _It's fine,_ June tries to convince herself, but inside she worries what will happen if one night she's left alone until morning and no one comes back to make sure she stays out of the way and out of sight. 

Another thought comes to her mind to distract her, from the factory building that she left what feels like so long ago. She was more hopeful then: her fire burned brightly, while now it sits as a sputtering flame inside her heart.  _I don't think I'll ever understand you, June._ Joanna's words stick with her. Family — it's what Gilead claims to stand for, but really works against. It is what keeps her pulse beating on the days when she can't keep her head up or feel the motions of her hands. She's learned that once you share a love so raw and natural with someone, nothing can stop the pain that separation brings. Nothing can keep you from giving all you have to be with them again.


	30. shelter / LUKE AND MOIRA

Luke was still holding the infant when the case worker came back into the room. 

"So," she says, speaking to both him and Moira. "I don't want to sugarcoat this. You both know personally how ugly Gilead can be — unfortunately now is no exception." She sighs and looks down at her clasped hands. "I've been in touch with my director and other resources since the handmaid, Emily, brought the baby here. I've learned that June was placed in an affluent and particularly powerful household with a Commander who is not letting the disappearance of this child go lightly. Negotiators from Gilead have gone silent and no one here in Canada seems to know what their next action will be. From our spies, we've been informed that troops are being relocated towards the borders and that random attacks by the Eyes have become more common. It's almost as if the situation surrounding June's child revealed a weakness in the system, angering the Commanders enough for them to refocus the Republic's efforts to crack down on defectors and outside influences."

Moira and Luke are quiet after her speech. The infant's sleepily innocent movements felt wrong in Luke's arms, like the seriousness was just make believe, a ghost in a child's dream.

"What should we do?" Moira asks. "I understand that this is really bad, sure, but I'm not going to hand June's baby over to some power-crazed soldiers. I met Commander Waterford — he doesn't deserve her kid, or anybody's." Without knowing it, her voice got louder and woke the baby, who started softly crying and cooing.

"I'm in no way suggesting that," the woman responds quietly, glancing at the squirming bundle Luke holds. "I just needed you both to understand the danger surrounding this."

"We do," Luke says, looking up from the baby. "What do we need to do?" 

The case worker collected herself and continued. "Take her home. Live normally with her, but don't tell anyone who she is or why she's here. It's incredibly important that she can't be found by any of Gilead's men. Also, that reminds me-" She stops for a moment to take a clipboard from the table. Scanning it, she continues. "Emily said the baby's name was Nichole. We can't be sure whether that's the name June chose personally or one that the Gilead forces would recognize, so I'd suggest picking something different to call her by and put on her forms — at least until the situation stabilizes."

Moira and Luke nod and meet each other's eyes for a second, a silent agreement.

"Okay," Moira responds. 

"Okay," the woman says back. "I'm just going to get her papers processed, and then I suppose you'll be ready to go." She takes her things and leaves the room. Luke and Moira waited until she was gone to talk.

"So...this is happening," Moira starts.

Luke shakes his head, a little incredulous. "Yeah, I guess it is." Looking down at the baby, neither knew exactly what to say next. It was impossible to ignore the figure missing in the room.

“We could name her after June,” Moira suggests softly.

“No, she’d hate that,” Luke says with a smile, stubborn tears filling his eyes. “She’d come home and yell at us for being so sentimental.”

Moira nods and bites her lip because a suddenly bothersome lump in her throat is keeping her from speaking. Luckily, Luke continues for her.

"Do you remember when June delivered Hannah?"

Moira lets a little humor slip into her voice as she replies, "Seriously? How could I forget?" The memory makes both of them smile, and for a moment they're back in the hospital room with the music and the epidurals and June's voice. "She must have given those Aunts a taste of their own medicine when she had this little one." Moira leans over Luke's shoulder and addresses the baby. "Yes, _you_  — I bet you'll be a firecracker just like your mom," she whispers, making the baby's face light up and giggle. 

A thought comes to Luke's mind. "Her mother," he says suddenly. "We could call her Holly." He glances up at Moira to see her response, but Moira's gaze is still fixed on the child's crinkled face. 

"That would be nice," she whispered. "Baby Holly — welcome to Canada."


	31. forsaken / NICK AND JUNE

Rows of painted two-story houses line the street Nick drives on. The snow has barely melted, but some of the trees have begun to show tiny buds. In another time, he might have rolled down the window to feel the spring breeze that seemed to follow you everywhere during the season. 

A pile of cardboard boxes sit in the back of the van. Almost a month into working for the Peterson household, it seems like the 'temporary' aspect of his assignment has been forgotten about. The previous guardian and his family are still in the process of moving to their new home, and Nick is being used as their transport since the Commander has given him nothing else to do. Getting away from the Waterford lunacy was a relief at first, but as more time passes the more he worries about what Fred is planning in his absence.

In the side mirror, a figure clad in faded green catches his eye. Blonde hair slips out from underneath the standard Martha kerchief as the woman quickly does laundry. It could be anyone — so why does he think of June?

Before he even realizes what he's doing, Nick pulls the van to the side of the road and shifts the gear into park. The woman can't help but look up from her work. Poorly hidden fear fills her eyes until she recognizes the driver of the black van.  _Nick._

With a start, June turns back to the laundry. Her hands shake as she tries to pin a blue dress to the clothesline.  _Damn it, June,_ she thinks.  _What happened to your nerves?_ Still, it takes everything in her not to run towards the gate and out to the parked car. 

Nick stares through the tinted window of the van, barely believing his eyes. Nothing he sees makes sense — June disappeared months ago, and even if she was caught, her fertility would have had her redeemed and sent back to a Handmaid placement, not a Martha. The longer he stays in the car, the more suspicious it will look that he stopped. With a deep breath, he opens the car door and walk around to the fence surrounding the house's yard.

June hears him approaching and discreetly puts down the damp laundry she was holding. Head down in an imitation of modesty, she walks towards the fence and slips open the gate's metal latch. Nick follows her as she leads him behind the house. Scared and silent, they both act calm until June's neutral face changes to one of confusion and Nick knows that they are now out of sight. 

"I-I don't understand," she stutters. 

"That makes two of us," Nick responds. "What are you doing here? What happened to Holly?"

Suddenly, it hits June how concerned Nick must be seeing her here. The last time they spoke was before her escape.

"She's fine," she says quickly. "There was another Handmaid being taken across the border that night. I gave Holly to her."

"Why didn't you go?" Nick whispers loudly. He isn't angry, but still can't understand.

"Hannah is still here," June states. "She's just down the street. Mayday was able to get me here and now I'm just waiting for a chance to send her with them."

Nick sighs and waits a moment to respond. June stands before him, pale and worn-out, but most of all frightened. Even with the Waterfords, she carried herself with a stubborn resilience and strength. Now, Nick is afraid that the anxiety of hiding in plain sight is getting to her. "June, they'll know it was you," he says quietly as she looks away. She's trying to stay collected but Nick knows her too well not to notice the frustrated tears forming in her eyes. "You both would be caught in hours."

He cautiously finds her hand and takes it in his. She squeezes it back.

"I'm not waiting anymore. I'm _not_ hiding," she says, meeting his gaze. "This isn't about me getting out anymore — not like last time. Honestly, Nick, I don't think that I'll ever get out. Even if I do cross the border, I'm not going to be able to put this place behind me. I don't think any of us will." Her voice grows softer as she speaks.

Nick looks up at the sky. It's still just barely light outside, shadows stretching over the yard and the street. There's probably another hour until the sun completely rises.

"Come with me," he says abruptly. "You look like a Martha, and I know a house that needs one. Nobody would know."

June looks wary. "What if there's an Eye?"

"It's a new household with a baby — there's no reason for an Eye to be there, not yet at least. They're not bad people. Besides," Nick pauses. "I don't think you're going to last here much longer, June."

She nods, knowing what he means. "Okay, then. I'll go."


	32. photographs / EMILY

"I still can't believe how much information they have in these files..." Emily says, trailing off. She's sitting on the floor of the apartment with Erin, the contents of her file spread out in front of them.

"They have a lot of people working at the refugee center," Erin replies. "Most of us who come from Gilead want to help in some way after we get our own things settled out." It was the helplessness they all felt.Without being able to run back into the burning building that they just escaped, they did what they could  _—_ identify photos, sort folders, and pack bags for the refugees that may never see this side of the border. 

"Do you work there?" 

Erin shakes her head. "I go with Luke and Moira to volunteer sometimes, but it still reminds me too much of all that happened. I wasn't even able to talk about it until a few months ago."

Emily starts to ask how long its been since she came to Canada, but stops before the words leave her mouth. She doubts that Erin's answer would be reassuring to her own fears of never getting used to this new life that she was just starting to lead.

"Who's this?" Erin asks, interrupting Emily's thoughts. She picks up a small portrait photograph from the slew of papers. Emily gasps and smiles. Staring back at her through the picture is a little boy with strands of brown hair falling across his smiling face.

"Oliver!" she exclaims, taking the photo from Erin and looking at it closer. There he is in front of her, as if nothing had changed. He's older, of course, but the expression caught by the camera is the same after all of these years. Looking up at Erin, she adds, "My wife and my son were able to go to Canada with their passports before I was taken to a Red Center."

"And you didn't go with them?" Erin questions.

Emily shakes her head. "Our marriage stopped being recognized once the government was taken over. We didn't find out until we were going through security at the airport." The memory still sits bitterly in her mind. Throughout her time in Gilead, she tried to stop herself from thinking of what could have been if only they were deemed an 'ordinary' couple; now, there's no reason to hold back the emotions. She had the right to be angry. 

Erin stays silent, watching as Emily digs through the remaining photos. "If Oliver's in here, there should be one of Sylvia..." She stops when she hears someone opening the door to the apartment.

"That must be Luke and Moira," Erin says, getting up. Emily puts down the photos she was holding and suddenly feels out of place. The people walking through the door are a real, functioning family, no matter how they came to be together. She only has documents and a fear that she can't place or push away.

"Emily, hi!" Moira takes off her coat and tosses it on a chair. "Did everything go alright while you were being processed?"

She nods and begins to put away the papers in front of her, not sure of how to answer. "Everything's good," she replies after a moment. "They, well, they found an address for my family and gave me all of this." She pointed to the folder, less organized than before. 

"That's great, Emily," Luke says, coming into the room. He has an arm wrapped around a baby carrier with one of the white baby blankets from Gilead draped over the top. Noticing her stare, he adds, "I'm sure Holly will be happy to see you, if you want to spend some time with her."

"Holly?" she asks as he sets the carrier down on the rug and lifts away the blanket. 

"They told us that it would be safest to call her by a different name than the one given to her in Gilead," Moira explains. "She has quite the target on her back at the moment." She frowns and turns to Erin. "Things have gotten a lot worse there, if that's even possible."

While Moira continues to tell Erin about what happened at the refugee center, Emily kneels beside the carrier and gently takes the baby into her arms. She's still swaddled all in white, just as she was when June had her. 

"This isn't far at all," Luke says. Emily looks up and sees him reading her open folder. "We could take you there tonight if you want."

"It's getting late," Erin interrupts, stopping Moira for a moment. She meets Emily's eyes, which had suddenly grown wider, and gave her a small, reassuring nod. "You should stay here tonight and get some rest. You've been through a lot."

Emily nods back, fighting a lump in her throat. "Thank you," she says quietly. Luke stands up and says something about sleeping on the sofa while Erin turns back to her conversation with Moira. Looking down at the infant in her arms, Emily sighs.  _You can get through this,_ she thinks.  _You're not alone anymore._


	33. deliverance (part one) / EMILY and MOIRA

The road moves steadily beneath them. Even with Moira in the front seat beside her, Emily can't help but be reminded of the long ride she took to Canada a few days ago. 

"I know that you must have other things on your mind right now," Moira says. "But I've been meaning to ask — how much did you know June while you were still in Gilead?"

"We were in the same district, before I was taken to the Colonies," Emily starts to explain, glad to have a distraction. "Honestly, I never thought I'd see her again after that, but somehow we both ended up under the same bridge on the same night, trying to escape." She shuts her eyes, remembering the dark streets, the speeding cars, her own screams as the June slammed the doors shut. 

"Was she okay?"

Moira's voice is quieter than usual.

"When she wasn't pushing her limits, she was," says Emily. "But she wasn't broken down like most of the other Handmaids I met. She was damaged, of course, but she was still strong. I never noticed a time when she let them get into her head enough to really hurt her."

Moira nods, tapping the steering wheel as she drives. "Before Gilead, she always told me that I was the one with all of the wild ideas. Now she's hundreds of miles away, sending a baby illegally across the border, risking her life because she saw something so bad she couldn't let it go," she says with a rueful smile. 

"It's hard not to worry, but if anyone can pull it off, it's June." Emily pauses, and then continues. "Will you and Luke and Erin be alright? This must have all been very sudden for you."

"We'll manage," Moira responds. "We always do. Still, you're welcome to stop by whenever you want. You're the reason that this baby is safe and in our lives at all. From now on, you're as much as June's family as we are."

Emily smiles to herself.  _Family_ , she thinks, and her mind keeps running circles around that word as Moira pulls the car to a stop. Caught up in her thoughts, Emily barely notices. It isn't until Moira's voice interrupts her that she realizes they have arrived.

"Ready?"

Emily lets out a breath, and nods. Cold hands clutching her file, she steps out of the car and into the street. Past the sidewalk and a small yard of snow-covered grass stands a little house with faded blue siding.  _Home_ , she thinks.  _This is home now._  Emily suddenly becomes aware of how foreign she still feels. Before leaving, she showered and put on a different set of donated clothes, but there was a level of grime that she couldn't rinse off with water — Gilead's stain had soaked all the way to her bones.

Together, she and Moira walk to the front door.

"This doesn't feel real," she says faintly to Moira. 

"It won't for a while," Moira replies. For a moment, Emily is taken aback by her response. "But it's worth it," she adds. "What happened will never go away. It'll never be forgiven, or suddenly become right. Don't let anyone around you say that you should get over it and stop thinking about what you went through. It's okay we've changed — everything else has changed, hasn't it?"

Emily feels a lump forming in her throat, so she just nods. Before she stop herself to overthink, she reaches out and knocks on the door. Everything is quiet for a moment and she starts to worry that it's the wrong address, or that no one is home. Then, she hears a voice coming from inside.

"Oliver, just wait a minute, there's someone at the door."

Moira smiles and glances at Emily, who is staring wide-eyed at the closed door before her.

"Hello?"

The door opens just wide enough for a woman with long brown hair messily thrown into a bun to see outside. For a split second neither her nor Emily do anything; then, the woman's hands are covering her face and her eyes are tearing up as the door swings open, forgotten. 

"You're here," she says, crying. "You're finally here."

Anxiety swept away by the sight of her wife standing just inches away from her, Emily steps inside the doorway and the two embrace. A tear forms in Moira's eye as she watches the two women shake and sob in each others arms, finally complete after being away from their other half for so long. 

They break apart for a moment and Emily turns towards Moira, who stops her from speaking. "Call us later," she says, and Emily nods back. With that, Moira gives the pair a smile and walks back to the car. Their lives may be spinning out of control before their eyes, but at least in this fraction of the world, something had been put right again. 


	34. deliverance (part two) / JUNE

June holds her breath as she gets out of the car. Letting her hair fall over her face, she thinks to herself,  _act normal._ Nick leads her down the driveway towards the door of the modest gray-brick house where the family lives. Boxes sit on the doorstep, evidently still there from the last trip he made. Her breathing becomes shorter and a stony silence falls around them as they walk. No matter how she tries to calm herself, the only thought passing through June's mind is the image of a scrawny, starving mouse scurrying right into the metal claws of a trap, believing until the last moment that it was being saved.

Nick pulls out a key and opens the door, taking one of the boxes from the step under his arm as he goes inside. He gives her a small nod, inviting her to follow him. She reaches down and grabs a box as well. 

"Miriam is probably upstairs with the baby," Nick says to her after they enter an empty sitting room. "Her husband should have heard us come in — he'll be here in a moment." His voice was collected and quiet, not nearly as anxious as June expected it to be. She relaxes her tight grip on the box and sets it down. "I'll wait here for him if you don't mind getting more of those boxes, and let him know that you're here."

"Thanks," June whispers, a small smile escaping onto her face. Even in the worse situations, seeing Nick brings a little relief. As she steps outside, she can hear the voice of a young man speaking to Nick. June takes a moment to arrange the boxes in her arms, biding time, before reentering the house. She keeps herself looking meekly downwards, focused only on her task. It is time again to play a part. 

"This is the Martha?" the man says shortly. 

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I'm glad to see she's made herself busy." He walks across the room and into the hall, where a short flight of stairs lead to the other rooms in the house. "Miriam!" he yells, a sound that is quickly followed by a baby's cry. "Nick and the Martha are here — come down!"

June flinches at his loud voice. A moment passes, and then she notices the sound of footsteps hurrying down the stairs. A girl in her late teens comes into the room carrying a screaming, pink-faced infant hastily wrapped in white blankets. Her cheeks are pale and her eyes are wide. June glances in her direction and immediately looks downwards again. She was too scared, too young, not to spark some emotion in June's heart. But now was not the time to act out. 

"I should be going," Nick says, looking over at June. "Let me just get her out of your way." The harsh words seemed to get stuck in his throat as he said them. June follows him out of the room and into a small kitchen in the back of the house. He begins to talk quickly. 

"I know it doesn't seem that way, but the husband is harmless. His name is David and he's got more bark than bite. Miriam will take support from anyone who offers it. For the next few months they'll both be too tired and busy to notice that they never officially applied for a Martha. You'll be fine here until then."

June shakes her head. "I don't feel good about this."

"I promise," Nick pleads. "I wouldn't have taken you here if I didn't know that you would be safe." He pauses, taking her hands between his and squeezing them tightly. "You're farther from danger here. Just don't show your face where you don't have to, and everything will be alright."

Something starts to burn inside of June, frustration, anger —  _this isn't fucking fair,_ she thinks. It's too soon to say goodbye again. But this place has never been fair, and it will never be fair until someone does something to make it so.

"I love you," she says in barely a whisper as she steps away. 

"Stay alive," he whispers back. "For your daughters." With that, Nick turns and leaves the kitchen, the space around June feeling suddenly colder and less welcoming. Still, that feeling inside of her blazes strong. For Hannah. For Holly. For all of the daughters and sisters and wives of Gilead. She was doing this for them. 


	35. resolution / RITA and SERENA

 

The house is quiet. Rita methodically chops carrots in the kitchen and carefully listens for any sound, any sign of life. She has learned that silence is more terrifying than pounding fists or loud voices, gunshots or screams. Silence means that something is waiting to happen — and in this place, it was doomed to be something worse. 

The Eyes have been rampantly patrolling the streets, stores, and homes of Gilead, always searching for someone who doesn't perfectly fit God's image. Each day, more are accused of heresy and sent to their so-called holy punishments. If they are strong enough and willing to repent, men are sent into the ever-expanding army to fight to secure Gilead's territory. The women are killed or sent somewhere unknown to disappear: the colonies, a Red Center, a border district, or someplace else. Rations are falling apart with no one willing to step forward and say so for fear of being persecuted as a traitor by the ever-present, judging Council. 

Worst of all (or maybe for the best, as Rita thinks), the sound of children has entirely disappeared. Families stay inside out of fear or sickly piousness and the few babies being born never live past their first cry. All of this, because of a few power-drunk men. 

She sighs, setting down the knife she was using and taking a step back. Thin lines stained orange from the carrot she was chopping cover the cutting board. She knows that she's getting sloppy, showing a dangerous amount of frustration and anger. That carelessness is enough to get herself condemned nowadays.

Rita rinses the knife in the sink and covers the carrots and the cutting board with a clean dish towel sitting nearby.  _Just a moment,_ she thinks. With quick footsteps, she slips out of the kitchen's back door into the yard. The dirty greenhouse stands before her. Rita doesn't hesitate as she opens the creaking glass door. Inside, she sees Serena bent over a potted plant, pouring water over it's mostly-dead leaves. She hums a little while she steadily works, moving from plant to plant. Rita shakes her head — the woman had lost it, but she's still her only chance. 

"Ma'am, if you have a moment, I'd like to speak to you about something."

Serena continues humming. Whether she's ignoring Rita or simply too deep within her own mind to notice that anyone had spoken, Rita can't tell. She goes on regardless.

"The commander's recent behavior has me somewhat concerned."

With that, Serena goes quiet and turns to face Rita. "Excuse me?" she says blankly. Unlike her voice, her eyes fill with a mix of emotion. 

"Mrs. Waterford, I know that you aren't a fool," Rita says plainly. "Your husband sent Nick away weeks ago and I still haven't heard what the official reason was. You've been trapped here without a driver, which seems oddly fitting seeing as the Commander has also shut himself off from the other families in this neighborhood. When he's not in his office, he's with the council."

"That's his job," Serena responds softly in an attempt to counter what Rita is saying. 

Rita takes a breath. "His job has never been a good one, but in the past few months it has gotten out of control," she says carefully. "You should know that, of all people.'

"It's not our place to consider such things, Rita," Serena says firmly, recovering a bit of her old demeanor.

"Don't you dare tell me to stop, Serena." Rita takes a step forward, and Serena flinches. "I have _nothing_. You, at least, can say that you have a chance at surviving this. If Fred takes this war against sin any farther, no one but himself will make it through. Don't you care what happens to you? To the rest of us?"

Serena swallows and straightens her posture. "I believe in God's plan for me."

"Do you believe in your husband?"

Rita's words seem to hit Serena like a slap. She's silent for a moment, folding back into herself and turning away to lean on the edge of the table where her plants sit.

"What can you grow in here?" Rita asks her. When she doesn't respond, she asks again. "Serena, tell me what you are capable of growing here."

"Anything," she whispers back, still refusing to meet Rita's eyes. 

Rita nods, a mix of relief and anxious anticipation for what's to come. "Alright. Thank you, Mrs. Waterford," she says quietly. Before she can leave, Serena's voice stops her. 

"I will be in his kingdom," she says, trailing off. "Following his word until the end."

Rita stares at her for a moment, wanting to say something but deciding against it. Seeing her like this, Rita almost pitied the woman.  _Praised be, bitch,_ she thinks. Suddenly, a sense of fear and regret hits her — after all, what she's planning to do can get her killed.  _This place is already a death sentence,_ Rita bitterly reminds herself.  _It is for every Handmaid, every soldier, every Martha. No one makes it out alive unless they do the impossible._ Resolved, she tightens her apron around her waist and walks back to the house, her meek face masking a working mind. 


	36. the flood / JUNE

Light creeps in through the slats of the window blinds as June stretches and rolls out of bed. She hastily puts her green smock and apron on over her fraying underclothes. Knotting back her hair and kerchief, she opens the door and slips quietly into the kitchen. Her room is small and dusty, but less suffocating than the cellar where she slept, hidden from sight, at the other house. 

June hears the front door open and shut. Joseph, Miriam's husband, has just left for the day, and won't be back until late in the evening. He received a military promotion (as all newly-married guardians do) and has been spending more and more hours away working each day. 

 _Good riddance,_ June thinks. Before starting her chores, she decides to check on Miriam. She climbs the stairs to the house's master bedroom and gently knocks on the door before walking inside.

"Miriam?"

The girl is sitting on the edge of a not-yet-made bed, nightgown tangled around her and a wailing child bouncing in her arms. Hearing June's voice, her head snaps around.

"Oh, good morning June," she says, startled. She starts to apologize, but June steps forward and holds out her arms. 

"Let me help," she says, and after a moment's hesitation Miriam passes the infant to her. The baby's tiny face stares up at her and she smiles. "How old is he?"

Miriam watches June, slightly awestruck at her calmness with the crying bundle. "Five weeks," she answers. "We named him Noah, for God's miracle."

June cradles the baby, whose cries have started to soften. "The man, or the flood?"

Miriam looks away from the baby and meets June's curious eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Nevermind," June says, turning back to Noah. _Don't scare her,_ she thinks. "I didn't mean anything."

"Oh." Miriam glances down at her hands, which are tightly holding the edge of her nightgown. With a sigh, she relaxes them and looks around the room.

"I didn't think that we'd be getting a Martha," she says, and June's heart begins to race. "Honestly, though, I don't know what I'd do without you here. I haven't been doing very well as a wife."

June swallows her fear and manages a small smile. "You're doing just fine," she tells the girl. "It's always difficult at the start."  _Especially when you're only a child yourself,_ she thinks, but keeps her mouth shut before she can say more. 

"Really?" Miriam's eyes are wide with relief. June nods. "I'm just so worried that I'm failing them all — Joseph, Noah,  _God."_ June flinches at her words, knowing how much brainwashing she must have gone through growing up to believe such a thing about herself.

"I promise, you won't fail anyone," June says, standing up to put Noah back in his crib. He had fallen asleep in her arms as she talked to his mother. "Just make sure you take care of yourself too, alright?"

Miriam nods, a little shy. 

"I'm going into town this morning — is there anything else you need from the store? We have a few extra blank rations," says June as she walks away, pausing in the doorway. 

"Nothing for me, thank you," Miriam responds. "Joseph might like a jar of jam, however. He used to have that in the morning when we lived with the Petersons."

June tries not to frown at the mention of Joseph. "I'll see what I can do," she says, false smile gracing her face.  _Let me help her,_ June catches herself thinking as she walks down the stairs back into the kitchen.  _Let me get her out of this place._   __


	37. all of us against the darkness / CANADA

"Oliver, why don't you take some coloring pages to do in the car?" Sylvia calls out as the boy runs back to his room. She looks a little frazzled, but her voice is calm. 

Emily puts a hand on her arm. "You okay?" 

Sylvia sighs and nods. "I'm fine — I just had a busy day at work."

"What made you take that job, anyway?" Emily asks, stepping away. Ever since moving to Canada, Sylvia has worked in the office of the elementary school in Little America. "I never imagined you working at a school."

"Well, I don't teach, so it's not quite the same as what you used to do," Sylvia says with a smile. "Honestly, though, when we first got here — without _you_  — I wasn't doing very well. Being away from Oliver made me so anxious I couldn't even think about applying for a job somewhere else." She pauses, looking away. "After losing contact with you, I couldn't shake the feeling that Oliver was going to be lost too. If I was working at his school, at least I knew that he was always somewhere close by."

For a moment, Emily is quiet. She pulls her wife into her arms and hugs her tightly. No matter how much they try or how much time passes, there'll always be the thoughts of their years apart tossing sharply around in their memory. Normalcy is just the concrete poured over the cracks — smoothing the surface, but not fixing any of the broken parts underneath.

"We're not going anywhere," Emily whispers into Sylvia's ear. She can feel her nodding, chin pressing into her shoulder. "We're together, and this is home. Everything else will work itself out." For the first time, Emily actually began to believe the words she was saying.

* * *

Luke sits on the sofa, baby Holly wrapped in his arms. She's giggling with a sleepy look on her face. Staring down at her, Luke can only think of June — her focused blue eyes, the curve of her jaw, the blush on her cheek. A part of him feels out of place trying to raise a child so far from a mother who put so much of herself into this baby. 

Luke sighs and adjusts the infant, who has now quickly fallen asleep. 

"I wish I could fall asleep that easily," Moira jokes, Luke laughing quietly in return, careful not to disturb Holly. Without the nightmares and the guilt, they all probably could.

"Emily and her family are still coming for dinner tonight, right?" Erin asks from behind them. She closes the book she was reading at their kitchen table and stands up.

Moira nods. "They should be here soon, actually."

"Do we even have anything to cook?" Luke asks, looking up from the baby. 

Erin walks to the pantry and crosses her arms. "Unless either of you have a recipe involving..." She pauses as she peers at the shelves. "Froot Loops, canned soup, and strawberries," she says, pointing at the bowl of them on the counter. "I would say the answer is  _no._ "

Moira shakes her head, mock serious. "If we don't figure something out, Holly's going to be raised on sugary cereal and random pieces of over-ripe fruit." Erin laughs and shuts the pantry door. "Well, I guess we can always order something." Moira turns away and reaches for the television remote, turning the volume down for Holly's sake before clicking on the news channel. It's become her routine to always be watching for something to happen. The times of the Canadian news broadcasts cycle like clockwork in her memory, her hand always near a remote or an app or a website than can tell her what's going on.

Unsurprisingly, another story about Gilead scrolls across the bottom of the television screen.

Before the regular disappointment can set in, Moira is distracted by a knock on the apartment door.

"That must be them!" Luke says, sitting up. Setting down the remote, Moira goes to let Emily in, Sylvia and Oliver following behind her.

"Hey!" she says, welcoming them inside. Emily smiles and leans in for a hug while Sylvia and Oliver walk over to where Luke is to see the baby.

"How are you guys doing?" Emily asks. 

"Good," Moira responds. "Holly's been amazing." Glancing over her shoulder, she notices that the news is still on. "Sorry, I can shut this off."

"It's fine, actually." Emily steps closer and watches the television with Moira. The voices of the news anchors rattle on about the continued shattered state of Gilead — the moving troops, the trials and their executions, the ration problem.

"We need to do something," Emily whispers. Moira looks over to where she's standing, still staring intently at the television.

"Like what?"

"I don't know," she says, shaking her head. "But we can't let ourselves fall apart just because we're on the other side of the border. We still have a home that we need to fight for."


	38. second chances / JUNE

June walks into town, keeping her head low enough to escape the stares of the Eyes but still staying aware of her surroundings. Moving bodies cloaked in red and green and black pass through the corners of her vision. Without the wings she had during her days as a Handmaid, the world is much wider.

 _No wonder the Marthas are so organized,_ she thinks, nodding discreetly to a pair of them who had just crossed the street and caught her eye.  _They see everything._

As she moves across town, treading through stores and security points and neighborhoods, June counts the women who are a part of the underground, tallying each face. It's been silent from Mayday since Nick snuck her into the new house. June isn't surprised — having direct contact with someone with her history and current situation is too dangerous for them. However, stepping into the shoes of a Martha has revealed a world of another resistance that's growing in Gilead: a hidden network that smuggles messages, supplies, even _people_ through Gilead and across the border.

None of them will be remembered. If they escape, they'll be another name on the endless list of American refugees; if they are caught, they'll be killed for heresy and any trace of what they did will die with them, trapped within Gilead's borders. There are no written records of the resistance — that would be a death wish, after all.

 _"Stay alive_."

Nick's last words to her echo in the back of her brain. Restlessness bordering recklessness, she's shoved them aside, but his voice nags at her nonetheless.  _I'm busy,_ she thinks back at him. _They need me here, working, right now._

It wasn't untrue. Miriam is overwhelmed with the new house and the baby that she's been put in charge of. When her husband is gone, June sees her open up, but when he returns late at night with loud footsteps and a voice that carries itself from room to room, she becomes shut off and confined again. 

Without realizing it, June's thoughts of escape have shifted. She no longer sees herself in her dreams of the future — at this point, she has none. Pictures of her daughters growing up happily with Luke and Moira in Canada may fill her mind as she falls asleep at night, but when she wakes at daybreak and settles back into her risky routine, it's hard for her not to notice the other lives around her who are suffering just as much as she was. Her fear and pain have been worn down to a dust, leaving a bitter taste in the back of her throat in place of the delicate and frightened lump that used to be there. She's become a dangerous mix of a paused countdown and an angry spark. At any moment, the fuse could light and it could all be over.

Gilead is crumbling and will turn on itself in the end; anyone left behind will be taken down by the crossfire. 

* * *

June sits on the edge of her cot, sore muscles and tired bones protesting the simple movement. The room is filled with early-morning shadows. Carefully, checking to make sure she shut the door behind her, June lights a small candle and sets it on the ground beside her. It flickers weakly in the darkness. Fumbling, June reaches into the folds of her apron and pulls out a small square photograph. Even without the candle, she recognizes it when her fingertips touch the rough cracks that have replaced its once glossy sheen after being folded  and held too many times. 

June yawns and picks up the candle. The warm wax feels nice in her hands, which are numb from hours of work. Pain and exhaustion forgotten, she smiles when she sees a timid little girl looking up at her from the photograph.

Will she ever again see that girl's face light up with laughter or fold into a frown? Or will she always be stuck behind a camera, watching scenes from a movie frozen in time?

 _Safe,_ June thinks.  _She will be safe._  

It would be naive of her to believe that there is still a chance that the two of them would make it out of Gilead together. With two escape attempts behind her, June knows that her luck is dwindling. It could be months, years, or just days before her time runs out, but there is no way in hell that she won't be putting every second of time that she has left towards making sure that her daughter has a chance at a life outside of this place.


End file.
